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.
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