Julio was in his workshop

no longer painting
his thousandth picture
but just waiting
to explain
the choice of colours,
my perception was the same
a craftsman, carefully constructing
in vain
I frame
words
in a geometric pattern
much
the same
questions unanswered
yet remain
to be
or not

to suffer
or fight

yet once dead

rise
walk
talk
instruct
those with an ear
to hear
and yet
despite or perhaps because of
the conscience whose traps, and snares entangle the innocent, taking them unawares
come clean,
thrift
with truth
drift
upon the imagination of the sea
bobbing with the mermaids
caught
on an island
of thought
and dreams
where that which is
seems
naught
nor means
to ends whose reams
wrought
the frame whose beams
brought
life, joy
strife
whilst the word gleans
the ear which fell
whilst the bloodede sword gleams
ceremonoius pomp and play
thrill the senses
to this day
we be taken in
by the paraphanalia within
and meekly bow and scrape
paying homage to the lace and gait
of circumstance and fate
foretold
yet the telling did unfold a plot so thick
that Hamlet
was Shakespeare
quick
to place
the time and place of words he spoke
into the mouths of those he wrote
whilst the myth from Denmark rose
with the viking warriors who strove
to conquer, command, overwhelm a Celtic land
where Saxon blood
would
in a word
flood
Oh clashing swords
strength and might
what weight is this which renders
night
from day
mid flow
mid way
whence the Norman language came
Men
from the North
again
did
lie slain
upon this land which then became
none other
than it be today
with waves of folk
who well might stay
or flit
in search of food
for lack of it doth drive the wit
to feed the word with
excrement
manure, dung
to fertilize
feed the young
 shoots whose roots
be beyond the boots
which tread stamp and march
to the union
jack
into which all fall
in line
to the throne
born
to beaver
for the Queen
Gertrude
hath her lover seen
past the witching hour when all is tight
and Mrs.Robinson turns in her bed all night
listening to the mouse within
the trap which Shakespear did spring
to catch the conscience
of the king who comes
upon the hour indeed
to haunt the imagination on which the son doth feed
stones to bread
cast thy self down
instead
suffer
the slings
arrows
words
of venom from the serpent's tongue
split
to please the baited throng
which waiting cries
the twin, Barabus, let face the skies
insouciance

for the dice once cast

follow the laws of probability
to the last
tumble, trick and turn
which the fool indeed did learn
by heart
as it
fell
with the wisdom from the well
within the grasp
counter-balanced
to the last
throw
thrust and feint
for indeed the end was quaint
justice was done
Hamlet's ghost had had his fun
 observing
the cowards who crept
cunningly home and wept
or slept
for there's the rub
nay,
the hub
born from clay
a dove
yet whilst hanging suspended
word fathomed spread
goose-quilled the action
read
instructed, played
the ghost
raised
the questions that pertain
myriad-minded
genius in all fame
standing on the shoulders of giants
to gain
applause, favour, a second best bed
though immortal, dead
poets lie
sleeping; dreaming
asking why
not
leap
in methodical madness keep
searching, uptuning truths which tell
tales
which hold the world in a spell
which crafts
with cunning
the past
projects
the morrow
within the framework
of the quest
Julio explained
the mirror's reflection
Da Vinci gained
insight
to the geometry framed
canvass
of the soul
where figures cut
the appearance
of a rut
sex-snared
driven
to procreate
 yet once caught
wait
awaiting the weight or gate
hanging unhinged
at the thought of murder
Hamlet cringed
drew back, stood
aloof from the act
yet stained with blood
unshed
metaphysically debating
instead
the trip took its course
the myth unravelled the mystery
of the frailty of Man
seeking to perpetuate
the members of his clan
wired to survive
the storm, strive
stag-like at the scent
of a wench
preying-mantis of desire
unleashed
on fire
driven to pursue
the quenching anew
constrained
by the law contained
in her wit
to maintain illusion as best fit
the survival
of the few
true to conscience
that never knew
the loneliness of two
individual beings
through and through
Julio drew
hung
anew
ensnared in the action
which he knew to be
true
or not
he didn't really care
the reality indeed
was to be
there
before the myth or moth
ate the cloth
with the words upon the shore
line eroded, evermore