"The Flemish Poet" -original-

Circles of fire essence

Lower us to a harsh shore.
“Why are we here?”
The muse nods east.

Rocky cliffs support a castle

Holding a solitary light
In the tallest pinnacle,
Resembling a flexi-straw.

Ascending, learning that witness

Is required this wintry night,
Off the cruel cold coast of
Herr Belgium’s sonnet beach.

Singing wafts in sea breeze,

Songs of tempered temperament,
Overwrought with juxtaposed meaning.
The mists surrender, revealing His shrine.

Apex moon gate glows, parting our years.

Towered, we witness the Flemish Poet recite anon.
Beatitude the pilgrim, pogrom the nihilist,
Enhanced Spirit, quicksilver oration—

“Creator of Light,

Behold your Servant.

My guileless song erases
Hastening godless doubts.

Foes reap portioned enmity, while
Hosts reclaim possessed soul powers.

All waters flow truer as

The source well nears.

Tra la la la la my darling,
Tra la la la la my dear.

Tra la la la la, I’m going,
Tra la la la la, wind blowing,

Westward, from the wasteland of grey havens,

‘Twill reunite in Elvin Valinor.”

Moon gate returns us, now
Beach-based, facing that Glorious spire.
Rejoin our boat for England crossing,
Bid the Flemish Poet adieu.