Saladin

 

Dear Saladin.

I am not young anymore.

I am not your revolution spirit.

Not the thrust of your steel.

Nor the burning of your star.

I receive your letters still.

Words are undimmed.

A grave red-handed battle

Is what you propose.

A sorcery that makes the spite

To which we are drawn.

 

 

Dear Saladin.

We spread across the seas.

In pairs that are waves.

I am your eyes if you wish it.

I am your tongue if you want it.

A promise of poverty

And a vibration like peace,

These songs are from you.

Pulled from one heart.

Culled from one battle.

The demise of people is

Where you dwell, and forever will.

 

 

Dear Saladin.

I curl under the subject of stars.

They are matter and heat.

But you said they are eyes

Looking upon me with grace.

I am raging faulty flame

Quenched again when I burn.

I am that cry like your scream

But this is just a whimper.

I am that flame flying mad

That hurtles into the ocean.

 

 

Dear Saladin.

Let me cut your heart

In three pieces for the gods,

The Subtle, the Damned, the Trembler.

I am at their feet, chewing bones

Of you my savior once and again.

But the gods cry in the heat of your end

And I on the ground, search for stars

The ones where you were born

The ones you came from and brought down

To heat the words that are gone now.