The Miracle Of 1511 Poem by Noah Smits

Where were you at the Miracle of 1511
where the snowy folk let their humanity fly
and we bundled up in layers just to fight the oppression
of a government wrought for a time gone by

Where was I when Johannes lifted off into heaven
when old Roeselare burned and you fled overnight
and the horses ditched you with the snap of a tether
pick me out the only person that was left at your side

We were two, two that thought that being three would be better
and the girl that emerged right at next harvest time
taught us how right we were and how wrong was the letter
from the priest on our feast of flirtation and wine

When the Beeldenstorm came with the winds of September
making waste of the faith, planting fear in your eyes,
rowdy mobs swept you up in the breadth of their temper
where were you that night, oh my beautiful prize?

You were
there on the rocks
on the bloody rocks
around the Zuiderzee

I saw
there on the rocks
on the bloody rocks
my futility.

But you were there at the Miracle of 1511
where our snowy folk straddled and our spirits aligned
and we bundled up in layers just to fight the oppression—
when our layers drifted closer, yours overlapped mine

As my views got sharper you stayed put in the center
I condemned Margherita and Granvelle as unwise
and if already I had not you as my treasure
I might live as a pirate, free of our compromise

How your eyes would remind me then that I hadn't ever
from revolt or from politics been truly supplied
with the one truth I knew: that what we had was better
than the frail winds of change that do shift and subside

When the Beeldenstorm came with the winds of September
I let my focus drift far away from your side
and the mob that I backed trampled you and dismembered
and dropped you on the rocks, darling, that's how you died.

I saw
THERE ON THE ROCKS
ON THE BLOODY ROCKS
I miss—
ON THE BLOODY ROCKS
ON THE BLOODY ROCKS
I miss your—
THERE ON THE ROCKS
ON THE BLOODY ROCKS
around the Zuiderzee
my miracle's casualty.

Now the Calvinist mob tells me God in His splendor
had predestined the hour and the day that you'd die
and the place that your soul will reside for forever,
but this all's just the killer stating his alibi

The storm's passed and, in the calm of November,
come the Calvinists' cheers that their God is divine
still, the only miracles that I can remember
came about from the union of you and of I.

And I saw
THERE ON THE ROCKS
ON THE BLOODY ROCKS
I miss your—
ON THE BLOODY ROCKS
ON THE BLOODY ROCKS
I miss your e—
‘EY, ON THE ROCKS
ON THE BLOODY ROCKS
I miss your eyes