Tuesday, June 21, 2016

Timur i Lang

Crippled iron, blue palace.
Nothing too exotic there,
Eh? When the compositor

Was a young man, home from school
On vacation, he read Marlowe
And discovered Tamburlaine,

A new and terrible sort
Of hero for a boy used
To not walking well at all.

The lame warrior, "Scourge of God"!
What a thought to conjure with.
It was the sword scene that got him.

"Nothing but fear and fatal
Steel, my lord." "Your fearful minds
Are thick and misty, then. For

There sits Death, imperious
Death, keeping his circuit by
The slicing edge. But I am

Pleased." And so he was, at that,
Although he wasn't sure why.
Was it the life of Marlowe,

Apostate, atheist, dead
Young by homicidal means?
Was it the great poetry

In the cumbersome drama?
The possibility God
Stooped to lamed and damned scourges

To say what He had to say,
Lamentable I Am who
Struggled to communicate?

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