Islands Of Our King

As absent leaders played God at chess Pawns became Kings and Knights Who dwelled in narrow moats Where they drowned in their own blood, Forming pale islands of the Commonwealth Slaughtered by the silk glove of skin By our own Kings hand. Let me name these islands, these Kings Cyril of 5 Priory Road in Kent, Nathan of Ontario, Darren of a farm near Adelaide, All islands in a velvet vermillion sea Floating like bread in bloody broth. Who will discover these islands? Which come together like hands in prayer Each time a new island is born from death. It matters not where we fell But where we stood. Our footsteps filling with rain Our message to the free world That we won’t stand again. Let me fall, With my brothers in the pit of schisms. Dying for an unknown cause As an unknown. I will be resurrected. Not as a concrete cross on mowed pastures, Not as a King or pawn But as the calm that follows storm. Look in to my eye It’s unconquerable, golden and crowns you in light And upon this drawbridge of rays You can enter in sleep the Castle of God.