The Return of the Profligate~ by Yoshay Lama Lindblom
The Return of the Profligate~
Narrow strips of red etched,
pregnant clouds hand overhead.
Murky waters that slap and foam,
against a rock, tis’ like coming home.
Upon that very rock I stand,
gazing out into the sea so grand.
Is it the sinking sun that burns me?
Or the rising moon that taunts me?
Was there a world to which I lost?
there was I remember a bridge I crossed.
Gazing beyond the blood red sea,
the setting sun now beckons me.
Alas! clear all is, all is clear,
amaranthine veins now pulse and quiver.
It is that which quenches thus my thirst,
to ravage and ruin I am ready if that I must.
Every end is a beginning,
and every death a winning.
Fading sun! sinking low in the sea!
It is you now that I beleaguer and tease!
It is you that I now irk!
for tis’ my hour to spread my mirth.
Come! Let me drink, drink you,
let me taste this thick crimson dew.
The night is dark, dark is the night,
that conceals my ills and shelters my plight.
Condemned you are! begone! the denizens cry,
Hush! defy me not. I am the end and your end is nigh.
©Yoshay Lama Lindblom 2011