I hear it in tales
That transverse deep along a proverbial line
Each aphorism taught by flicker of flame
The echo of the name
where the candles stem encroached by shadows
Whispers out upon those cries
Lurk unseen to the eyes.
Intoned characters play
the profound thoughts of yesterday
where the hum of the bird fills
Stills, the thought of the nightingale.
empty wooden boxes
I still hear the old ones recall
All foreshadowed saw
The victors of the ghettos
Those long queues
That between the torah scroll and death
Marched the fated line.
Masters once echoed the name
That sacred game of the immortal chain
That angel's to Abraham once dissected
Infected a race
and instructed by the form of a line
The linage of all Israel.
Yet where in those days
Where Satan masked under a German frock
was the glimmer of a chosen race found
Without a voice, no sound
There drowned upon the iniquities of the west
That scorned and blamed all their pestilence upon a fabled name
Yet! Even here where the tears of mothers cried
upon the draining gases, the burning flames
To their fading names
There arose in the prayers of old men
The wish of their saviour.
That somewhere in histories constant horrors
Between the prayers that together hum
That the Messiah would finally come
Surly the day had dawned,
Where lamenting to the shofar
So far afar
To late to hear the horns
That tore down the walls of Jericho
Upon the echo, of a race
to see the face that therein does trace
Their crown back To Jerusalem.