Dead Lies The Prophet

Black orchids from slender crags arise.

Lone prophet abandoned soon dies.

Seven wicked spirits join in the street.

Agnostic mourners gather for their feast.

Words once spun from the dead prophets lips.

Lie now like broken bones on sinking ships.

Truth belittled buried far beneath a swollen sea.

Wisdom in haste delivered that souls be freed.

No eyes left in which to see; no ear lent for words such as these.

Witness now the platitudes of insincerity which spill forth like Virgil’s vacant creed.

Oh no dreams; no hope, black orchids on slender crags bloom.

Ignorance is bliss now rules whereunto the sanity of insanity looms.

Dead prophet lies alone in the street…black orchids of absolution at his feet.

J. Allen Wilson © 8/2007