Rasputin

Rasputin sat beside the Rubicon
With a cup of hemlock in his hand
Evening was falling like silent tears
The sky was drunk with crimson mist

He stared across the river’s breast
He saw the wild flames leaping up
Two dragon-flies sat atop the flames
Rasputin laid his sword of faith down

In a shimmering pyre of solitude and wood
He saw the bones of Joan of Arc shriveling
When the horses in the stable became restless
Rasputin spat between the eyes of Revolution

Beneath a leafless and lonesome yew tree
He saw History playing cards with Death
And the little boy who knew all about destiny
Strummed his balalaika in the empty valley

And by the time the chandeliers were lit
The theatre and the cathedral were dead
The seven wise men – they were clueless
For the moon had stolen the missing piece

Jesus of Nazareth – he was nailed to his cross
The five blind Jews carried him across Rubicon
And a dead brown leaf whispered to my feet
‘Did the faithless faith healer cross the river too?’