Epilogue to the Battle

Moist grass underfoot in mourning dew,

fresh soil disguised on a streak,

a smile, sickly sweet,

she listens to the hall, heavy footsteps pitter-patter 

as the clouds pass over

just a wisp 

silver in the morning heat,

that sting, a sting on the flanks,

boiled like an old leather heart, rage fills the 

broken glass...

unable to empty the hole,

the dirt slinks back in,

like she used to on the evening sabbath ,

now the spell shatters,

on the daylight we slumber tense,

unable to forget the fateful hours hence,

remember it was only a dream - 

that's what the leech did say.

Nightmare King

Slayeth away, busy King

along the crimson fields the warriors fell!

Tearing apart the darkening skies, the King raised his voice

above the din, bellowing like the call of the horn.


"Stay, my boys! Leave the way clear - the Champion is mine!"

Over the bodies he skipped merrily, traipsing over the pawns,

keenly focused,

on a legacy by the sword.


"Don't go m'lord! Come back, before it is past time!" the warriors brayed,

still the King did not attend - drawing his jeweled sword,

shining now in the evening sun, stained with fading stars


Above all others, he led his life plain,

conqueror among the conquerors,

till that fateful day, the day his Queen was besieged,


She kept the watch

watching the feral hordes writhe above the catacombs


Not in the tower, but at the front gate, urging the young men to fight

in his stead.

With sleight of hand,

She was taken by the Champion that day, with cold steel and heart alike,

the grounds full of blood and dust, patterned like the spray of a waterfall

upon every lifeless face,

He stood above her, the Champion, driving his sword into her gullet

while taking the King's place in her heaven,

and all that he ever held dear.


Almost succumbed under the haze of fever,

the King did see it all,

the fire in His eyes, wretched gnashing teeth, yes, a hole was made into his soul that day!

As the thunder raged, and lightning fell like tears,

an oath was taken - with no one around.

Vengeance, was the only compass of the King.


Now at the edges of sight, his men regaled in the muddy fields

knowing what was to come - the mighty King!

As he clashed his shield against his sword, the men shouted

on high: "Do not continue m'lord, you are consumed!"

Too late for the Champion, however - for he knelt by the end of the King's mercy


Screaming, screaming, the hordes did wail, beseeching the nightmare King,

strangely hollow now, the scene divides

the many seem so few, and the hills become cobblestone hallways,

"What sorcery betrays these eyes?" wondered the King, as the voices became tangible


Gazing down upon the Champion, he noticed the flames had become blue,

a continence much like his weighed upon the image below him,

weaving together the mists, he cleared his troubled mind, and now he recognized the enemy!

It was so clear now, like the harvest moon -

"This man is not my wife's killer, he is my son..."

"My son! My Son! How has this come to be?!"


The King, seeing his son's bloodied features sharp, did now retreat a few paces,

ceased only by the feet of his body stumbling into a unknown form just behind him:

It was only the body of his wife, the Queen...with a dagger lodged in her heart,

to the vision he gasped "My love, my love! What have I done?!"


Time now slowed forth...as if in a dream,

heaviness poured across his limbs swathed in the fear of what he had done

slow as molasses in the morning air,

as the the servants stood by, gazing upon the would-be-king

horror clear, the sound of flesh became muddled once more.


The call of the horns,

The call of the horns,

the cry of the falcon in the distant past,

the pall of summer on the winter's smile,

for times long ago he flailed about,

on the soft mossy banks of the lake,

allowing one final glimpse of what was,

a tapestry of love, now torn upon the rocks, his

standard in the thorny brambles,

and the cruel absoluteness of tender life,

now alone in the corner, two forms still,

while the shadows crept in...

"Ah!"

the King thought to himself...

...then what is the point of being young, if you cannot regret it?"

Streaks

On the docks they skitter along, lost and found,
little feet grown large on the drizzly boardwalk,
with dreams aplenty, as when the wind was young

Few reach the pinnacle of speed - the effort alone would slay
dragons, these souls are on their way no doubt,
towards heroic deeds yet unseen,
with determination on the sweat of their brow,
pining away with a demigod's plow

Some flow down the gentle pathway to a nearby pub like
cold molasses, taken in by the smell of the sea,
new pork pies and stale beer,
a cacophonous, winding, misty embrace -
wafting along the edges of their senses,
they search for way to stay razor's edge

Most, forget why they came -
the fog of being human is not easily swayed
hemming and hawing,
toiling just to skirt the taxman's gaze,
but not enough to
kill the numbness on the brain

Soon all the big feet, some narrow, some wide -
all of them seek shelter amidst the throng,
wishing to become small once again,
tiny footprints on the sandy beaches of the world
unknown and unhindered
back to the place where dreams anew.

Madness of Red

It was a quiet evening in the heather,
teaming, swaying on the gentle breeze like wildfire;
I went there to escape the morning's ill feelings, - still not yet allayed,
yet now I could see
sunset's pure colors oozing upon the horizon;
the madness of red, soulful blue of impending twilight,
sharp orange and yellow fruits all hanging on a drooping
tapestry in the sky

Stillness and silence preyed upon my mind at last,
and the forbearance of the season washed away the
elements of a long, long day -
how could it not? I knew the earth wished to take me.

Yet, the creatures saw me in the meadow, saw me for what I was;
two once lively legs and feet, a lithe and impenetrable will - now reduced
to the ashes, such bright eyes now dimmed with heaviness of time
simply lying in the heather, arms spread wide to caress the evening air,
once again...once again to feel young as if the day was new,
just grasping for hope everlasting.

Between the comings and goings of the hours and minutes,
mere seconds can make all the difference;
a lover's kiss or a strangers kindness,
or a timely melting of the heart -
against all-odds, we continue on,
pondering and planning the next move,
we know we cannot stay long...
yet I will always find myself here again,
alone or not - back in the heather.

Heights

Out of breath

all this time, still the dust frays

about the evening sun,

like a blood-orange bloom

the desert plays on the spaghetti skies

and a quick hand traces 

old wisdom upon ground

and the crowd adores

Slice frozen time

juicy like popsicle villages 

spurting across the angry teeth

of the world

Return again to the scythes

in the fields we wilt

against the wind

atop the mountain-tops

we scramble down 

to the broken cliffs we cry

in the hurt

lifted to the heights at the end.

Part 1

Time flows, again
as lava to the sea
still winds rush across the
black sands
and new life grows upon the littered
plains
ticking clocks, creeping along the
crimson line
and the heart pounds relentless...

Static

Lies in the shade,
crimson fingertips, tainted in the dry ink
on the couch at midnight,
staring at the empty screen,
remember that afternoon

Look round' the ol' house
crumbled about you
like a house of cards

Luscious smiles pasted on the desert madras,
on layered hills
like paint pots overturned

Those deceitful eyes
shining on the oasis green
just reflections in the dark

And TV goes static

frozen in the moment
crystalline
like a spider in the amber.