Before His Majesty

Poem By Leo Yankevich

A little vague, so very touched, he sits
with mouth agape, and he regards the men
in white as they unknot his mind with straps,
as they unsicken—free his soul with pins.

The pins feel bad, unlike the flames that fly
in pastures, suns atop a crimson barn,
the straw inside a bed for dreams, the dumb
at prayer, at prayer. Amid the solemn dust,

the horses neighing, childhoods gone amuck,
the wheel of torture turns like heresy.
The Law redeems no-one. The courts exist
for glory, glory... mid so much mercy.

Comments about Before His Majesty

There is no comment submitted by members.

Rating Card

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of YANKEVICH

Apollo’s Archaic Torso

(after the German of Rainer Maria Rilke)

We have no knowledge of his ancient brow
where pippins ripen. Yet his torso gleams,

A December Wish

You hear the sound of carols from afar.
Bright bulbs and tinsel, cinnamon and cloves.
Beyond a hill of snow you see a star.

A Tiny Glow

Without the moon or stars to guide his sight,
without a glint from shanties down below,
he rested on the foggy hill that night,
and begged the heavens for a tiny glow.


Perhaps there’s mercy in the skies,
although the Spaniards have seen none.
The tears of horror in their eyes
reflect the fury of the sun

A Hater Learns About Love

After a long night of interrogation,
followed by a thirty-minute trial,
there was no doubt about it: I was guilty.

A Plurality Of Worlds

Intensities of pain—
of those once persecuted
and those once executed.