Rinaldi and the Priest

“You won’t steal the breath of a woman,” said Rinaldi to the Priest.
“Never peel her dress in the moonlight, never bathe in the sweet release.
And you won’t know the scent of her shoulders the morning after the victory feast.
And you won’t hear her true confessions,” said Rinaldi to the Priest. 

“You’ll get no satisfaction, dear Rinaldi,” said the Priest.
“A thousand little pretty darlings cannot speed your heart to peace.
And your moon can’t measure the meaning of a star hanging in the east,
And you’ll never sate your hunger, dear Rinaldi,” said the Priest. 

“Your words are just delusions,” said Rinaldi to the Priest.
“A dog can’t beg for freedom if he’s never been unleashed.
The old man that you pray to in the morning’s long deceased.
And you’re only chasing shadows,” said Rinaldi to the Priest. 

“I’ve been up top the mountain, dear Rinaldi,” said the Priest.
“I felt of a hand that moved me, and I say you’re the one who’s fleeced.
To love someone is to serve them, whether he’s most or least.
And I pray you’ll learn this lesson, dear Rinaldi,” said the Priest. 

Some days I’m with Rinaldi. Some days I’m with the priest.
Some days I fly with angels. Some days I ride the beast.
Some days I lie in prison. Some days I’ve been released.
Some days I’m with Rinaldi, and some days with the priest.

Copyright © 2022 by Michael Kim Roos