• alisdaire_ocaoimph 5w


    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.

    Rummaging through
    empty wooden boxes
    I still hear the old ones recall
    All foreshadowed saw
    The victors of the ghettos
    Those long queues
    Of Jews
    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
    Called Jerusalem.

    Yet! Even here where the tears of mothers cried
    Sighed, died
    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.

    Alisdaire O'Caoimph