Red by Morning

Light is breaking through the cracks,

the crawling king snake snaps his back,

his hollow heart was painted black 

upon the dust, the dirt, the track -

I choose the dagger in the back

while you play white and I play black

and Judas gives his warning.

The devil and the holy harp -

his strings, when struck,

carve blunt teeth sharp,

I’d linger on a black remark,

I’d start a fire from a spark,

knowing I’m no Joan of Arc;

I’m Judas in the morning.

Towers crumble to the ground,

the grinning child, his laughter drowned,

the texture of a single sound,

which Wednesday roars - he throws his crown,

he blows his horn, his foaming hounds

answer to his calling.

I don’t bleed

there is no need

the traitor’s turrets

fall for the freed 

stain the white walls

red by the morning.