A Flame You Lit

A Flame You Lit I hear your voice calling from verses long penned as swift it passes through and a flame lights in my heart’s hearth and within that space I write of the accursed poet whose spirit still in a slow but steady pendulum beat, through time moves, and I bathe in the magic of its swing; many are now dust but your ballads are not gone from the flavor of the hour, from the ashes of your name Villon one sip and your pen dipped in the mire pulling on the leash sniffing for traces of life, to our hunger still speaks, hanging in spiraling smoke, still vibrates like winter’s wind on the prowl, mocks the stars, animates the flowers of the night, and howls. François Villon is a French poet who was born in 1431, the year Joan of Arc was burned at the stake. As a student of the University of Paris, he participated in many brawls and pranks. He even killed a priest (he was defending himself from the man’s attack, picked up a rock and accidently killed him) and was granted full pardon. He was later imprisoned and tortured, but released by the new king Louis XI. He ended up ‘exiled’ from Paris for 10 years His ‘Testament’ will forever live on. He fascinates me because he reminds me of my younger brother, a bright star who had a dark glow.