His Dream Poem by Job Laz

I have got the lines rising
For beauty is the dots punctured to grace
I have got the fleece and the crown
The flags hoisted to hope

I am he with bronze sandals
And silver stealth
I toll in joy resonating
With symphonies of a forgotten tale

I swing the thunder bolt
And surf the white clouds
I ski the Snow Mountains
With twangs to retune my passage

I bed the moon at eve'
And cuddle the million stars at night
I make home at sea's ripples
With minor bars to reclaim my essence

I am the message of the heralded
And the rhythm of slumbering gods
I speak furry like finished diphthongs
Seeping at the rim of a mild syllable

I am a god with flutters of roses to show
I am a king with castles of hay
And pawns to rule
I am a man burning in the last rites of the cigarettes