An angel looked dismayed as they were walking by,
In the morning light reflected off of pools of blood collecting flys,
Buzzards, vultures, coyotes, and the occasional hyena.
No longer to delay,
Awake another blood-filled day,
Out of the sea; the five heads of the beast were screaming.
No one asked for the heroes,
And thought of them as zeros
While they were fighting the beast that didn’t need exterminating.
Morning came again with the red tide.
So many fallen that should not have died,
From ignorance alone,
The beast called the sea his home.
And so will many more after this reading.
Cheers to the callous fools who have no feeling.
I do not often see red tide retreating.
Posted in Musing
Tagged angel, beast, die, fallen, hero, home, light, morning, poem, poetry, pool, red, reflect, retreat, sea, tide
Ravager of worlds
Storm. Beast. Unstoppable force.
A herald of end.
Let me show you where the path ends,
Where bodys break and bones bend.
Where minds unfurl
And tragedies swirl,
Where this path comes to an end.
At the end a monstrous beast
Its bite to be feared the least.
Without legs with which to chase
Without eyes, or jaws, or teeth,
Lies in wait for an awful feast.
Without a face it cannot see,
Without a face it might be me.
With broken body and bent up bones,
Not a soul in sight but my own,
There’s none left to blame.
I, without a beast, or so I think,
Remain here on the brink.
An edge, a place I’ll stay and wait
For the bones to heal and the beast make
A quick escape, my fear to take.
Into a fearless sea I sink.
The beast will come.
The beast in me.
The beast without eyes I cannot see.
The path has ended I search for one,
Not made for me but made for some.
And without eyes who’s to say,
We didn’t drive the beast away.
Yesterday’s gone, tomorrow never comes.
At least that is what the faceless say.
Its first of four heads is raised
As it takes off its winter cost.
The song of spring is played,
And through the air that floats,
Awakening its second head.
Its three horns new life brings.
This one falls asleep appearing dead,
The third one, a song of summer sings.
The three summer horns:
The most prominent of which is heat,
followed by the wind and storms,
We wait for its passing, we take a seat.
It’s now laid down. The fourth head, Fall,
And its horns telling the earth to sleep,
Rises up to herald the end of all,
And within our minds keep,
Caution. For the beast of seasons
Is no lover of man.
Who to the earth commits treason.
It will eat him if he can.
This one is about nature and time and how if we’re not careful it will slip away from (eat) us. Nature/time is no respecter of persons. The four heads are the four seasons, each head has three horns, the twelve months of the year.