Unlikely Epiphany

A man hung his head

As he took on the half-debts of a half-royal family, 

Idly strumming his instrument in strange rhythms, 

While listening to the muffled sounds of thieves

Building their palaces out of littered vanity.

In a decaying courtyard

An old man reached out for what he thought was eternal justice. 

Instead a young priestess responded by offering him a book

That neither of them could read, 

Its pages sun-bleached in an arcane language. 

In a citadel of old towers,

Clutching a quill pen to her breast

As though in anticipation of a great sin, 

A noblewoman waits silently in amusement, 

Irreproachable within the infamous walls now closing in. 

Chanting the ancient hymns

In a nest of sticky leaves,

'You are what you embrace,' she whispered, 

If in background or foreground, 

If at a time when the borders melt and all bleeds together.