At The Master's Table
His table, master's table long, so long eyeballs ache dashing sea foam down
The whore, the clown, the outcast torn down--we come
Swimming in bloody waves, walking in laughing caves--we near the guarded port.
Brass coffers in plain braggart sight stealing my sunshine and cracking my night.
Waterfall upwards turning round o'er eagle's eye scoping on windless kite.
Foxes, gray and red, dancing hand-in-hand holding His hand--we come
Crawling the donkey's alliance quiet drowning Her hearing in silken sight.
Muddy, muggy feet and hands dead from lies and foreign lands.
Seeking a bone, a crumb, an eyelash moment of life, acting a laugh, a cry, a sigh.
Queen LeBasha Tiu, never knew love like you and I grew--we come
Still, the sea foam creeps from demon's darkness past deep our starving skins dry.
Old, worn boots we wore when young, now our clothes, our fortunes are simply their dung.
They gather. They blather. They drool while gossiping tongues unleashed
Poisons deadly. Poisons in tuneful medley no more a pause for us to sleep.
The tablecloth a priceless silk of linen milk flown from Indies unknown prince
Meat, thieves' cheap wine and death's white crusty bread--we come.
Flesh, skin of women once fair, eyes flash thunder sparks and lips of fair
Kissing no feeling of heart. No soul to see all stationary frozen, chewing at me.
I'm lost one second to the next and feeling spiritually vexed I chant with the crow chorus
Ignoring us, stepping in chairs of snowy caverns of reindeer tales--we come.
A countless counting of numbers of yore seeking a fork of fruit with jellied pork
A countess from His abyss on a moment's ease kissing, touching and tease.
Oh, green spiders true chuckling on webs of dew with His wife so young
And daughters and sons gaze backward at foes on rung.
Keepers bring the beast carved with nail served best with black bloods in silver pails
Dressed in white with matching grimaced brows tossing the ribs and weeping cows.
We swallow with trust and belch in hate looking for criminal cakes having no date.
Old farmer Louis, his wife, Belleux, wearing a corpse's smile carrying a sailor's knife.
We come. Oh, Master of your table, we come.
Endless chairs, windless stairs, and new stars for newborns to laugh at
Food is gone, Master sits alone, as sailors take Him to his boat.
Princess Ellie Leigh looks at me and we talk of days in Africa.
Was this a dream, a demon's scream, or some bill for God to one day redeem?
We come. Oh, mercy beset us. We come.
Sing we the defeated, the wore, and faceless silhouettes at table's edge
Waiting. Still and patiently waiting for a word from The Master's stony lips.
From death we came and clouds are just faded laughter. We come.
Eternity before us or just a passing glimpse of Princess Ellie's love.
We wait above. We wait below. Tired from living. Too weak to roam.
Souls without number, a few, a lot, or just a simple some
Master, oh, Master, we, the hungry, we come.
More by this Author
An abstract/prose look at an elderly man looking backward and forward to his life that was and will be.
A simple, heart-felt free verse poem about America's forgotten spectator sport: Dirt track racing.
Destination America channel has scored with Mountain Monsters, Paranormal Activity and other spine-chilling shows. Then there's Alaska Monsters.