Treasure (Part 2)

 Treasure (Part 2)

 

 

It’s true, I know that blood will out.

No maze exists that I can conjure;

imprint upon those minds that hunger

to disinter that casket. Well, so be it.

Our hearts tell tales in labyrinths,

sooty jewels that refuse to scrub up

and press and brim us to the brink,

coffered inside a chest that gleams

in seeming, must be not as it seems.

Above, the land, all plateaus bland,

below through fingers sifts the sand,

twists in funnels watched by shrieves,

will be exposed and snatched by thieves.

I’m the fool to think I could ever trust

foundations of this weak Earth’s crust;

no, she will crush to crumbs instead

and grind my bones to make her bread,

spell water porous, stirring the murky

brew bubbling at the cauldron’s bottom,

sifting tea leaves for something rotten.

And it threatens to give itself away

as I weekly lift the lid and stare,

trace hands between her treasures there,

divide and part and clutch doubloons

until I swear I must with fever swoon,

for a padlock might have many keys,

they turn the avaricious to disease,

who flatter ourselves only we can know

where each and every passage goes,

then gasp that day the whistle blows.

Oh, and then the edifice crashes down,

Dominions hawk dire news cross town,

to herald bad tidings for it is found

that this is sweet affront. In mantle deep,

within Earth's core she dreams and sleeps;

treasure where most Angels fear to tread,

for deep buried it lives and is not dead,

when this is found, I will gladly shout:

your blood now sings and blood will out.