A River and a Lark

Between the tall banks of a mighty river,
and the trees which reach up to the skies,
sits a conniving lark, watching, pensive, waiting...

For dusk to settle,
for night to bid its final good-bye,
for daylight to show its face,
for humanity to reveal its fleeting grace...

Between the tall banks of a mighty river,
and a breeze which silences its powerful rapture,
sits a fiend indeed, aching, hungry, yet waiting...

For men and women to go about in their busy lives,
for such creatures to lie, cheat and steal,
for such creatures to hurt, and murder others;
for a misguided humanity to offer its souls to a starving lark...

Between the tall banks of a mighty river,
and the blood flows fueled by our angsts, by us,
sits a vampire, thirsty, yet always patient, always waiting...

For those weak of faith and those weak of heart,
for those who have foresaken their soul for others,
for such beings who have faltered, surrendered;
for humanity to lay down as a lamb might...and perish...

Between the tall banks of a mighty river,
and a hope which may have been, if it ever was,
sits a scavenger born to destroy all those who have given up.

 

Copyright © 1997 Hans Raffelt, All Rights Reserved.

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