After all this time am I still awake?
Or am I still sleeping? One cannot know.
This a colored lens, anxieties take?
I don’t think it would make a difference so,
Our hours, what we perceive to be day,
Are spent towards the twilight leaning;
And what’s imagined to be night will say:
Rest. Awake. Do not spend all time dreaming.
Reality demands a sacrifice.
I will rise and in doing so procure
A dream that has enough blood to suffice.
What does the waking world hold that’s allure?
I will stay asleep and remember when,
Reality is a place I had been.
Posted in Life (or something like it), Sonnets
Tagged allure, asleep, awake, blood, day, dream, hour, night, poem.poetry, reality, remember, sacrifice, sleep, time
Farewell to a constellation
Of regret, but mostly memory
And memory cherished.
No night without dreaming
And I dream,
I dream of naught.
No stars without darkness,
No morning I sought.
And to say goodbye to
Friends become family
And family become blood bought.
How quickly I forget
How quickly the memory runs cold and blameless.
How quickly I’m forgot
And we remember that this is meaningless.
Posted in Personal
Tagged blood, constellation, darkness, family, forget, forgot, friends, goodbye, leave, memory, poem, poetry, regret, star
This face on the ground
With debris all around,
If it had a mouth
What would it say?
If eyes, what would it see today?
The stealer of identity
A silencer of secrecy.
It becomes anyone and anything,
As swiftly as the past takes wing,
It can be everyone and no one.
And nothing and all blood.
There behind its simple facade,
It laughs, and pretends to be God.
Posted in Musing
Tagged blood, eyes, face, God, ground, identity, laugh, mask, poem, poetry, secret, wing
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