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I can hear the pomegranate bells,
bells, yellow loud with striking tells.

Strike upon the sound.
Light upon the sound.

Listen, to hear the waving
sound shade my burning lips.
Coals of fire heal.

The winds of time shake me.
Kings have come to brake me.
In the light of night,
in the fiery arrow’s blight,
they’ve come and cursed my plight.

I know the true.
I know nations fall with loud
and quiet sound,
with whispered calls,
and pandering pleas.
I know the true.

I must hear the pomegranate bells
amid the smoke and smells,
amid the wails and quiet tells,
amid the shade of whispered thunder.

Let me tell the true to tell.

One day a year,
One man, alone,
enters to atone.
One man carries twelve heavy stone.
One man steps up to heaven’s gold throne.
One man draped in pomegranate bells,
sounds for his people to hear,
sounds for the lamb’s blood to pay,
sounds for the goat to off-stray.

No silent footsteps.
No silent lips.
One day we’re heard.

Now.
Now, I’ve been touched with the coal
now, I’ll be sent.
Now, I’ll, with words, do the rent.
I’ll rent father from son and all;
nation will, with words, do the fall.
Men will be flayed
opened and bared;
with bear teeth they will stare,
with dagger’d eyes they’ll kill
and still will I stammer and still.
Still will I mumble and quip,
for I’ve been touched with the coal;
I’ve been touched by the quick.

© rl busséll 2018 – All rights reserved.

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