Saturday, March 5, 2011

Nicholas Barrett


This is why I fled upon the open sea,
with dread and glee, your storm hastened my heart,
from the start, lowly I ran, dreaming free.
An exile, roaming this loveless rampart,
a wretched heap on shores of self I keep,
yet, by ships aground, Nineveh falls apart.
Awaken blackheart as cities burn and weep,
for as you sleep, the seas cry justice—fury,
and sailors pray to gods—parlay: Calm this deep!

Cry out! Cry out! That captain screamed in scurry,
for judge—me—jury, on seas of self we keep;
and so, amazed, I gazed at ole death’s hurry.
Methinks, I am to blame for this storm we reap,
and despite my plea, overboard—they threw me;
now free; baptized in water’s deep, I sleep.
O self I keep, ever rest apart from me,
for thrown I lay, on shores of brother’s keep.
Alas! Love’s song so sweet—new wine revelry!

Mercy tree, withered shade-no-more, burn deep—
love’s trill—ancient Liberty—song of wealth,
by worm’s hungry carve and stealth; self now sleeps.
Who am I, O Great I AM, wrecked on self,
lost of health, I can’t believe, under this tree,
I see, by loving enemies, blooms true self.

Prince of Peace, mercy tree, drown—me—misery.
Restrain the senseless self—dark beckoning;
Great Reckoning, beautify—we—history.

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