Thursday, January 31, 2013

A Spire for Bishop Clannad

Awash in the view of their great white cathedral
the vicar and minions were deeply distraught
One fine silken thread of their web of deception
had snagged on a sliver of freedom of thought

The weave, at a snail’s pace, unraveled by inches
until there were only a few random strands
They’d claimed there were heretics working against them
that they’d not absconded with good King John’s lands

Now most men would bow to the words of the clergy
If one said “I didn’t” then surely “he’d not”
A few though were classified drunken transgressors
and one could trade whiskey for truth from a sot

So armed with a bottle and charm from my mother
I treated a friar to sips of good cheer
and whilst he was tipsy I questioned “his plumpness”
about missing monarchs and church held frontier

He yapped like a bloodhound of classified knowledge
The king was imprisoned by Bishop Clannad
“Keep secret” he told me “this sad state of reason;
the Bishop was said to be ordered by god!”

By its common name this was treason in earnest
a grasp for true power, a vain mortal sin
Once they’d been apprised of John’s thoughts of conversion
the church dragged him off to their darkness within

I pondered the wisdom of trying a rescue
a mouse in a lion’s den might have no chance
Yet though if I failed I would face a new gallows
‘twas better to die than to live in a trance

So armed I made haste to the manse of a builder
where records were stored of the castle and yard
I searched through the drawings and found in the rubble
old cellars once used by the Church’s home guard

I sketched a quick outline, a catacomb puzzle
and left to confer with a strong, fearless friend
Once he had subscribed to my haphazard notion
we found an old entrance and made to descend

An hour of wading through cobwebs and spiders
an hour of sloshing through sewage I’d guess
our liege was encountered at last by good fortune
chained down to the floorboards in tortured distress

We soon were discovered while quickly escaping
my friend carried John while I fought with the priests
My sword was a-dancing through clerical collars
as we made our charge through the pastoral beasts

Once he had recovered the King made a statement
a Dire Editorial, from the High Crown
The Bishop would hang from his white spire of treason
and then the cathedral would promptly burn down

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