Part One - The Script
And I upon it with others,
Reciting such an account of history
As to boil the blood and melt thyne heart.
Talk, of needless slaughter against claims on land
By men whose origins lay across waters,
So vast in depth and breadth
That months may pass before eyes fall on sight of a shoreline.
Natives born out of soil
And grown unto the sun in cycles,
Having thawed an age of icicles.
Stand proud and tall.
A people of ageless grace, of weathered face.
Rounded, nay hounded,
Tortured and scolded,
Scarred, both young and old,
Butchered and beaten,
Brought and sold.
A trial of tears
Lain in wake of the years
Under oppression, doctrine and fears.
Mine eyes can not but flood in thought
Of such savage spite.
And in vane, conjure a poor shadow of thus wicked deeds.
I do declare to all who would hear.
Is not life but a play?
A script to change as our want should may?
Let thy pen be thy charge,
As sword unto brave knight.
As brush to canvas take artist.
As bow to string doest maketh music.
There can be little doubt therefore
That life may be wrote.
And what so ever may come to pass.
Be it goodly or full of woe.
Its in our own nature attracted
By the seeds with which we do sow.
Part Two - Twin Flame
Where art thou now?
You whom I know of old
From another state of fate.
Governed by an uneven clock
Last I saw you I do recall, one year but half.
We walked with each
As though a million steps had gone before.
Through crowds in a building of glass
With coloured floors and many corridors.
I thought I knew you not.
But when your eyes did mine meet
Some previous perception did I greet.
We paid each other in compliments
And made talk small on mutual ground.