[Gary Wassner]

INTENT

He sings the song of a traitor’s death,
he paints the walls of sorrow,
he writes the verse of perpetual mourning,
he dances with tomorrow.

love the face of a forgotten memory,
kiss the lips of fate,
hold the hand of a rancorous enemy,
recline on the bed of hate.

He pierces the eyes of the silent betrayer,
he stabs the heart of pain,
he slashes the limbs of the constant stranger,
he buries the victim’s remains.

Shake your fists at errant lightning,
shelter the ones you’ve saved,
beat the drums of eternal resistence,
roar like a tidal wave.

He carries his burden to the river of dreams,
he bathes in the waters of madness,
he renews his heart in the vibrant streams,
he purges himself of the sadness.

Forgive those whose fate cannot be mastered,
absolve them of their blame,
loosen the bonds of faith’s conviction,
return to them their names.

‘Tis not the hand that throws the knife,
nor the fist that batters.
‘Tis the heart of darkness come to life,
the evil that truly matters.
Without intent we are no more
than silent, empty urges,
a wave that laps upon a distant shore
eroding what it purges.
When there’s nothing left to recognize
among what still remains,
how will you march once more to war
upon these desolate plains?