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Mon peuple

de Thales

Dawn caught me in a shimmering silver haze.
The early sun caressed me and drove away the morning chill,
dispelling the clinging damp mist
and revealing the canonised valley.

I felt its timelessness and was immersed in awe.
Through an arch of leaves I gaped,
afraid to take the step which would blemish
that silent, perfect beauty.

A tinge of ominous red across the darkening heaven,
a jackdaw perched on the gallows.
Three pensive men of faith,
two hundred credulous fools.

With impunity I've slain,
heedlessly marched into battles of others.
Impervious to the most mordant of jeers
I transcended mere mortality,
but in one transitory moment of hatred
work of eons was swept away.

The small boys have come see me hang.

The creaky sound of rope against firm wood
the only mournful accompaniment
of my patronizing decease.
Two muffled caws, one final twitch,
and the callous hands cut me down.

I sleep through the night and wake up anew
as dawn catches me in a shimmering silver haze.
I pass underneath the leafy arch and hear myself scream
the piercing newborn's cry.

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