The Past That Haunts the Future
The past that haunts the future hangs flyblown,
Still the fraying lariat chokes a larynx dead,
And silences the words, still born, unknown
To ears that should have caught the sentence said.
Or some guillotine to hack Medusa's head,
And sink so deep the corpse of cruel dreams,
For what was done played havoc as it spread
A virus to infect the virgin screams.
It is this, the fusion of a plague of sin,
In tandem with the rationale of blame;
To come to terms and pluck the violin
And apprehend the bestial hound of shame.
For then, and only then, sweet love inflame
And exorcise the taint from out the mind;
Time for dirty deeds to cease to claim
Dominion of the heart of one so kind.
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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