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The bells toll.
Standard? A call to Sanctuary, I suppose. Ironic though.
And in we march, tightly aligned, to our positions marked by silent stains.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers...
“Dearly Beloved, we gather here in the sight of God...”
...for he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.
“...in holy matrimony.”
Piercing voice, soothing venom. An old vet.
“...sacred union of man and woman.”
Oh, Mr. Jefferson, how could you have known your ambiguity’s reach? But no bother, ‘tis the American way. How better to represent both sides?
“Repeat after me...”
As hundreds before you have done. Your day, your fantasy, is merely Saturday.
“...'til death do you part.” - “I will.”
She knows, dear Daddy, and loves you too.
“I will.”
...shall gentle his condition
“Then by the power...”
And the glory, for ever and ever...
“...vested in me...”
By state, by God...
“Please kiss your...”
Amen.
Turn and smile and gallop in step.
United they stand.
And now our cue, but hold your turn.
Divided.
The bells, the bloody bells.
Are all.
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1 comment:
Rather intriguing, that.
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