Death of the King

In brilliant fire of young spring
Still smouldering live coals
You accept for firing,
So I will for your joice.

Light petals fly in balmy air,
Falling down with the eaves
Like clear wings of forest fairy
In calm waves of reveries.

And sun is looking throughout me,
Through the present`s painful lense
Shining roads of destiny,
Where we`re standing face to face.

And careless river of tomorrow
Washes husk of past away,
Unwrap forfeit so long you followed,
Your sweet dissolved in withered May.

That was a suicide of the I
And now I rise from our grave,
Your rot, miasma, void you are,
You will possess until the end.

For, greater gift you`re poor to take,
Excusing for the pleasure,
No more I`ll play at give-away
With who have burnt all founded treasure.

And that`s the end of chapter one.
For, darkness can`t be ever cured,
But let the jester be a clown
In his restricted world of root.

And I will smile at your mistrust,
Most funny joke you ever said.
At you, who bury newborn child,
I laugh calmy with regret.

(april 2007)