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.

 

dead and dying

young and old

dead and dying

when did we believe we were invincible?

when did we grasp immortality?

when was it ever judged fair to lose a life

where are the ones that never returned?

why do memories fuzz and fade?

why do we forget what will always remain true?

young and old

newly born and aged beyond

dead and dying

dying and dead

and yet

there are

the ones who are dying to be dead

ender

an ender should not dread the end

reaper of all, you sowed once too

a guide for the died

what fear is there

for the destined real?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

you will be summoned

you will appear

be drawn to my wavering soul

suspended above my shallow shell

and dear death

once ago

and once again

 become

enfleshed

cherried

Note: I wrote this years ago…I want to change it, but I don’t know what exactly I want to change, so I have left it as it is, and perhaps my muse will relent…

 

she sat clumsily against the grimy brick wall
staring straight ahead to avoid my sharp glance
her hair lay greasy and plastered to her face
dark and congealed like tarrish glue
lazily her hand lay open to catch the piercing needles from above
sighing i sat aside her
defiant to remain as wordless as she
to stay still as icyness wetted my clothes
even as the torrent of freezy drops
snaked down my goose-pimpled neck
she lay her head calmly upon numb shoulder
and slid heavily into sitter’s lap
upon her flustered face
stared two crimson-stained eyes
cheeks a blush
lips parted in scarlet
hued tears had lay upon eyelashes
and run rivulets upon her rosy-pale face
cherried were her hands
all sticky with sweet iron scent
she lay there refusing to utter a word more
almost but never….no never her…almost less a little of life
she lay in my drizzle laden arms
drenched in rain and red…