As Ever Like the Sun & Moon at War

8- ❂❂ -V

For three more weeks our Preacher tries to tell

the people of the polis th'evils of

invading those who only live their lives,

possessing not a wish to be disturb'd

or force their own beliefs on others too,

and even goes so far as tryn'g in vain

to gain an audience with Chancellor.

But as he pushes more this truth instead

of making miracles for cheer, he knows

the people less believe the words he cries,                10

and slowly do his masses now decline

in size; for why be challeng'd in their views

when down the road a song and dance of lust

encouraging their wants is happening?

Yet still there's some who come to listen in,

perhaps agreeing with the words he speaks,

or maybe only feeling loyalty

or pity to this sorry immigrant

who only wishes for his older home

t'remain the way it was when did depart                20

he from the coast to come to these plateaus—

as though they think nostalgia clouds his sight

with values more conservative than most,

and that th'invasion is a progress true.

Alone in pensiveness—as ev'ry night—

our Preacher roams th'acropolis's streets,

awash with lantern light to stave the dark

that creeps about the roofs and alleyways,

yet still unable to illuminate

the cracks of black betwixt the cobbling stones                30

directly 'neath their magnifying panes—

defiant dark residing in the light,

so shelter'd by the blanket of the fog

that rolls about his ankles ev'ry step.

Perhaps he's wrong; his mind is fill'd with doubt

that such a thing as human decency

exists; perhaps there once were two who shar'd

a form and knew this wisdom, handling it

in diff'rent ways—extremes so opposite

and certainly so altogether wrong—                40

yet handling it at least, which hath he not

been capable of doing, blind with faith.

Our Preacher kicks a loosen'd piece of stone

and sends it tumbling to a mason'd wall,

to which he turns his gaze and, t'his surprise,

turns out to be the Twilight Tavern's front.