The Schism

I.

“Hot ice and wondrous strange snow”

William Shakespeare

What night is this,

When forked lightning

Reaches from the ground

And silent thunder

Splits expectant ears?

The princess could not see herself

Split between two popes

As mourning began without delay

For the mother of the queen.

And I, the child of all,

Sped to sanctuary

With others of my kind.

Hidden deep within the castle walls

Grieving with the gamesmen who knew no sorrow

Save their own.

The secret code has not been broken

Doubt and fear and disbelief

Linger in the kingdom.

Fresh cut flowers wither in the graveyard

And whisper to us all.

II

“Would you regain the past with magic?”

the wizard quizzed us.

“Would you deny the crucifix, the talisman, the star?

What butchery would you prevent,

What war left undone?

Can justice ere be served by averting death, by pitying the poor?

None save I have the magic

And I am at death’s untimely door

Whether tomorrow or a thousand years I see.

Through the opening stand candles tall

That never are replaced

Yet burn with fiercest light.

Nay, let the past be ever passed along.

The guilty freed are guilty gone.”