Bloody Fortune

Often, I stop and think

Of days bygone to years ahead

Of battles won and wars’ defeat,

For man’s lost soul death entreats

And often treads

Between the eves where heavens fly

The earth and sky, fiercely played

Upon the boneyard stage, where reigned

Whispers of fortitude

And of rage

From solid to solemnity’s cost, and then

Break to brow, spirit’s wroth

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Leapt this partitioned foal,

Of lamb’s great cost, the Shepperd’s toll

Upon the backs of wreathing froth

So, lie in wait, man’s demon child

And sow the seed of largesse hate

Let not the spoils of victor’s keep,

Or stay the hand from bloody sheep

To the viper, or the babe

Asleep, the cradle, in iron cage

Casts a pallid spell,

Which no one wakes, sees

The blood or the spoil

In ever lasting haste,

this mighty foil