the beast the master the clown and the lover
by David B. King (2003)


Here,
Beneath it all,
Atmospheric drifts and bouncing rainbows,
Lies the beast; the master; the clown; the lover

The Beast: “Before the end of time I shall know but one voice,
Thy voice which bellows in the mirror, sings of my soul,
And from thy voice I shall know but one song,
Thy song, which echoes from the walls, sings of my soul.”

And time moved on, bent and shaped,
Skewed as in birth,
Direct as in death,
Non-existent.

The Master: “Before the end of time I shall know all the world,
Thy world which lies atop the stars, sings of my soul,
And from thy place I shall know but one song,
Thy song, which whispers in the stars, sings of my soul.”

The beast fell now, as time often does,
From his birth,
To his death,
Non-existent.

The Clown: “Before the end of time I shall know all that is false,
Thy mask which forever hides my sight, but sings of my soul,
And from thy mask I shall know but one song,
Thy song, which is written in the sands, sings of my soul.”

The master lost now, as time often does,
And soon the clown disappeared,
Forgetting birth and finding death,
Non-existent.

The Lover: “Before the end of time I shall know but one heart,
Thy heart which does so carry mine, sings of my soul,
And from thy love I shall know but one song,
Thy song, which cannot be heard, sings of my soul.”

The lover stood now, as time cannot be,
Above it all; above birth and death and life itself,
Within atmospheric drifts and bouncing rainbows,
Between beasts in broken boxes of hate,
Among masters with stolen dreams of power,
Walking on the melting masks of clowns.

The Lover: “Here, I am here.
And it is here that thy song sings of my soul,
Where I forever venture north and pain heads south,
Where time gives itself freely, with no hands to point of,
And a child is my heart, my soul, my mind,
Where thy song echoes inside of me, and pushes all limits.
Here, I am here beside you.”

And time left now, misshaped and forgotten…