King of Pain (ode to the Fisher King)

sun rises like a flame

over this wasted place

smoke rises from

the burnt remnants

of a once fruitful land

won’t someone tell me

what is wrong

why this desolate field

bleeds so?

who could cut

a wound so cruel,

so deep?

I bleed on the inside

the blood runs so cold

this cemetery of charred remains

is my domain

I roam alone

singed and cut

like the land

I lay wasted discarded

like an afterthought

this kingdom and I

lie in ruin

waiting for someone

to tend to our wounds

february 3 1992

Victoria, BC

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