he is for hero-ed

his skin is his fatigue

no need for woven camouflage

the jungles as quaint and known

as a well worn living room

its secret ways deftly etched upon his unsleeping eyes

leader, rebel, ordained ruler

hero, deity, thief

rescuer, reaper, ruthless

wounded yet does not bleed

so many lay shielding him

of their own or owned will

unblinkingly i stare

awaiting

something urging me to keep looking 

there…. 

stealthily skulking off between the overgrown rushes…the unyielding reeds

so say the flickering shadows at the corner of my eyes

but

somehow unfitting

he lies too-still

all grossly revealing

that he is mortal in death.

 

static

the journeys i await to take

to escape

in case of tragedy

lead me away from home

lead me away from the comfortable known

a spurning?  an ending? a new leaf turning?

monastic? ecstatic? or just another further contrived version of static?

all this waits upon a mishap that will leave me no more willing through its hap

but leaves me no closer to peace

that i seek

by awaiting an excuse to leave.