Heathen

My Dear friends
 won’t you please
whisper sweet nothings in my ear,
I want to feel them start to sour
 with each disagreement,
have endings with evenings
 of sorrowful thought
 and gilded promises,
and when I should die
before the rest of you,
sever my ears
 so I can listen to all
who speak to me in the afterlife,
I’ll archive my favorite speeches
and lectures that fall upon my demise...

Forget me not
for the forgive me knots
 wrapped around my neck
so no God sought
shall forbid me now,
heave and throw my body
 so all the rest should know,
I was the martyr for the forsaken
 that come and go...

I want to feast with Diogenes,
speak with the good fellow
that kings wished to become,
for not everything is power,
only those who lower themselves
enough to pick it up
and block out the sun,
nothing great comes from towers
except the fall.

come one, come all,
watch the Heavens
 call the great heathens to a brawl...