The King Is Born

Raw organic perfume spread it’s
Wings; blanketing the chamber. A
Cool draught dives through the

Subtle crack beneath the alter.
Anxious honest peasants captured by
Arousal and fear – tension suffocates

The will of ancient marble relics. Deep
Mulberry scented blood flows freely
And stains the hair of angels. Erotic

Nymphs prepare a tomb; virgins bless
The cradle in hope that innocence is
Reborn – perhaps in animal form.

Clothes soaked in myrrh infused goats
Milk prepared in anticipation. Freshly
Chewed kava is set aside to lubricate

The transition. Doves squeal an eerily
Spooky high pitched squeal; deafening
The prophet. Magnificent artistic lead

Light windows shatter in the intensity.
Lightning completes the miraculous
Transformation. Piercing icy winds turn

To dust. A shallow pulse thumps over the
Temples of the witnesses present. Weight
Is lifted, crow channels the spirit. Infinite.

The king is born…

© Leroy Wilson

About Stayne

Welcome to my page and thank you so much for stopping by. I feel honoured to share some of your precious time. These are just a collection of thoughts that have popped into my head and I have managed to store here. I am hoping that one day I will find the time and inspiration to return to these thoughts to edit and craft poems out of them...ah maybe one day.
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