Tired from the day, she’s still and cold.
Tired from the blood she’s carried.
Long life past, now she’s old.
Now far from demons she’s long buried.
No regrets, her own grown strong,
They’ll find a new grave to carry
Her to where she can rest from demons wake,
From the words of death she spake,
From what she carried for so long,
So her own to demons pacts
Would not be sold.
Or so I’m told.
She takes this secret to her grave.
The children know of what she gave,
But not of sacrifices made.
Posted in Life and death
Tagged blood, buried, chidren, demon, grave, life, lion, lioness, poetry, rest, sacrifice, sleep, tired, wake
There will be wolves,
And blood will follow.
The sheep may judge and graze and crawl,
The wolf will be the reckoning for them all.
The shepard protects and herds them close,
But still one may choose to stray.
A wolf pays no heed to the opinion of sheep,
That they shouldn’t hunt and kill and eat.
The shepard knows there will be wolves,
And for those who stray,
Blood will follow.
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged blood, graze, hunt, judge, kill, poetry, protect, sheep, stray, wolf, wolves
Held onto the same place for centuries.
Then she wandered for a hundred years more.
This journey could not be explained to me.
She searched high and low, ahead and before,
She searched, untethered to a time and space.
Time, a circle; past, present, future, now.
More in the past than elsewhere know her face,
And more faces than memory allows.
After me there will be more, and more blood.
As long as she wanders and doesn’t stay,
There will be no waves of foes like a flood.
To this day, her name, mystery remains.
She’ll no longer humor my inquiries.
Being Immortal Unintentionally.
Posted in Sonnets, story
Tagged blood, century, flood, foes, immortal, journey, mystery, name, poetry, search, she, space, stay, time, wander
She laid her once holy blade in the mud,
Raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun,
To gaze across a wasteland soaked in blood.
She looked for her brothers, for survivors, anyone,
Naught but frozen, lifeless eyes met her gaze.
Thousands and thousands marched with her from home,
So quickly torn from their halcyon days,
To the final resting place for their souls.
For herself she weeps, not so much the dead.
Her price? No release for herself to find.
For such a price, can “This is peace.” be said?
She mourns for the world that she’ll leave behind.
There’s no absolution in crimson tide.
There is no peace where so many must die.
Posted in Life and death, Sonnets
Tagged absolution, alone, battle, battlefield, blood, brothers, crimson, death, die, home, pardon, peace, poetry, release, soaked, tide, war
A pain tomorrow,
Bought with the blood of today.
Could not have seen this?
From those in power,
We are different.
The smell is sour,
The taste, a bitterent.
The throne ought be mirror,
Not what casts a shadow.
The occupant peers ore’,
Their hardened hearts to harrow.
In furrowed wakes behind,
They planted in the soil
And the dirt that is our minds
Seeds of greed that despoil.
Their labor; our sweat and blood,
Their currency; our souls.
Just one night, a violent flood
To overthrow their thrones.
But will we stand
Against the tide?
Our bloody hands,
Their secrets hide.
No more behind a face so strange,
We’ll find one more familiar,
Shown in the puddled rain
To be one that is similar.
The last dark night, the red dawn shows
Whose hands that did conspire,
Death and greed with war in tow,
In ash recently expired.
From those ashes who’s to say,
What tree we’ll see to grow?
We, the ones to prune today,
Decide beauty or thorn show.
Posted in Life (or something like it)
Tagged beauty, blood, conspire, death, fire, greed, mind, mirror, poetry, seed, soul, throne, tree, war
Red water flows,
And tumbling grows,
Becoming something lovely.
Carrying something lovely.
Red water breathes,
And carries breath.
Though in between,