Suspicions

Old and cold and filled with ghosts
Your house on unnamed streets

The faded foes you served as host
Now hover at your feet
interwoven fingers form
A ring of outstretched hands
To call upon the spirit storm
Your memory commands

In dusty half-light,

pale with fright
These strange aparitions
fill the vapors
with sickly whispers
Of gentle suspicions

A fragrant smoke that's tinged with sage
And the arogance of youth
A cardinal in a copper cage
And ambergris to seek the truth
Within the flaws of crystal orbs
You find yourself transfixed
to task the gods and ancient lords
with potions that you've mixed

a divination
By thin maidens
of stern disposition
Stir the caudren
Of all you hold in
To brew your suspicions

I gaze into the looking glass
These monstrous scenes unfold
Where saints of old sleep below the grass
Their secrets still untold
But there upon their molded lips
Confessions bloom like fire
To reach again with blazing tips
Of uncontrolled desire

Sacred voices
Speaking choices
with every vision
In the mind's eye
the divine lie
Of all these suspisions

In the half-light
trembling in fright
You make the decision
To hear the whispers
The gentle whispers
Of all your suspisions

-D.B. Rocca, 2011