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LA BELLE SORCIERE SANS MERCI
(With apologies to John Keats)
What can I tell you, my curious friend
About riding the night alone;
The road sang beneath my feet
And no one for company.
Everyone else at home in bed
Comfortable, safe, and warm
At rest and gently sleeping
Yesterday was done.
The wind did wail against my ear
And I began to pale
To think of all the things I’ve done
And have never done.
I met a lady from the clouds
La Belle Sorciere Sans Merci, I thought;
Her hair was long, her foot was light
And her eyes were wild.
She sat upon my handlebars
And stared into my soul
Her laughter like a Banshee
Melted all my bones.
My fear became a necklace
That tightened ’round my throat
She looked at me as she did hate
And made an evil moan.
She found the roots of my beliefs
The oats I’ve sown grew fresh again
To remind me of my own dark heart
and everyone I’ve harmed.
She took me through the dawn,
That long and fitful night
The kind of love she made to me
Left scars across my back.
There we labored on the road
And there I dreamed, ah woe betide,
The wildest dream I’ve ever dreamed
On the cold roadside.
I saw dead riders in the ditch
Pale warriors, death pale were they all,
They cried La Belle Sorciere Sans Merci
Has enthralled us all.
Their starved lips gaped wide
With horrid warning.
The dawn broke and I found myself
Flying down a cold, gray morn.
And that, my curious friend,
Is why I ride alone,
The empty road beneath my feet
And no one for company,
Vol Lindsey
volwizard@msn.com
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