Posted January 16th, 2009 at 10:44 PM by Bones
Updated January 20th, 2009 at 10:54 AM by Bones
I sing of warfare and a man at war.
One ripped from his existence,
And one, trying to escape what nature gifted.
For the steward the wars go on with and without,
Time forgotten more than remembered.
The cold arctic of Ibex slows and mellows,
Making a steady reach across what were states,
What were golden emblems, what were…
Tree, grass, root, and bark take back,
What wasn’t ours and yet we took.
After a pause, he remembers.
He builds what lies hidden in the cold.
Kept far from reaching hands and
For the moment… ignored and unchecked.
Clean, a fresh start, almost clinical.
A refuge, a place for those with knowledge,
In a place where its worth makes danger
At least, that’s what they say.
So for us we’ll forget the dark,
And focus on what lights we make for ourselves,
And with a groan for that indignity,
His spirit...
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