Little soldered soul,
infant bare in this life.
A'jest, your back
Cast against the stone head
and your tears recanting through veil.
Still in you,
a child weeps.
Upon his Mother, now cold.
It is a grey England.
Wind-breaking,
and our hearts set a sail.
One will never be the same.
The day has that sort of chill.
I can not conceive of the endless piles
Riga-mortis set into the soul.
Deafening, oblique melancholy,
A weight which anchors
While a panic trembles-
Anxiety's crutch,
The breath which currents in me shaking hands.
Stamina in defeat.
Choices weigh up in unviable options.
And my world has already caved in upon me.
Dwelt then, I have surrendered, aimless;
The path of my totality,
an open and drifting sea.
Completely at the mercy of my Creator-
Doesn't matter how good any deed...
as I am not some.
Comfort will not be given,
By some one miracle or testament of faith.
I do not get a sweet tale to tell,
One short epic, and any happy ending to follow.
That will not be mine.
Mine is another.
Mine is the story of no miracle given
Worth while.
A piece of property worked to the bone-
No salvation in this life;
Not for me.
By no fault anymore than our race to our slaver
It would not be
A story of saving grace.
If I didn't know any better; the feeling is akin to
God's abandonment.
Sacrifice and duty, for only the cost of one soul-
"My Child".
A venom taking over my body,
mascarading as death.
In paralysis, some haulted stench of dismay and uncertainty-
A defication smothering the last semblance of light.
A surrender, then
To my enemies.
My life given over to them.
Made irrelevant.
To enslave,
The noble girl.
But not before she had a chance to taste her fate, in Divinity's hands,
and granted, anointed
She was.
Years stripped away dreams.
No love, in the castle cast upon her.
She was whittled down
not even good in a forced life of servitude
For her captures sneered only of envy;
Soley was their enthusiasm,
To snuff out any confidence
She kept for herself,
as if still somehow,
An ultimate threat.
Her days, mine-
Grew timeless. Haunted. Restless.
No savior.
Only piles now.
Only the occupancy of her soul
To another.
And without her Light
All stamina she had, carried no force.
She was whittled now.
Down to shaking bones, and quietude's.
A shell of subservience,
Because in this world,
She mattered not.
Here then, I take only what is given,
No token to my blood or name.
An orphan now.
A stripped and nameless servant
That my enemies parade.
Choices were made.
They evoked death.
The Devil may bind my flesh,
But my Soul remains in God.
Fervent.
Persevering;
Regardless of what mechanisms in me break.
Demons upon my flesh,
Snapping, clawing, gnawing
It is not bliss in God.
But war.
Upon my back ever more,
I pray the shrine and shroud of the Light,
Great Protector.
He is a mind collector,
Snatcher of virtue,
Murderous intent, whispering for souls.
and of him, I have taken blurring blows.
Shrouded however,
and ever more,
By a war we wage
As tiny men built of solar flare.
Our glory blows back. Rectifies and burns when fanned. When raged.
When tempests' come out to play.
It will appear coincidence
When it is readily the raging of the Light.
And rage it will.
And rage it must.
A fiercely Might.
As Man, oh Cosmic Dust,
Still glows.
We are
The raging of the light.
Glory lit across the skies-Broad-banded and arched.
Giving purpose over to life and death,
Marked,
By a war-
No recollection of having signed on for.
Rules, vague.
Enemies cloaked.
Yet the invisible soul, rages so...
Lending purpose;
A graceful endowment
& Divine, the gift.
And the war is worn.
Shouldered upon us all,
Spoiled in malintentions,
Grommeted up in precious metals and stones.
The flowers permeate then,
The thick of the air, as if masking the stench of rotting carcass, without avail.
In courts we pretend not to smell.
and we scrape up what our cups can fill;
A bend so liberal, it arches back to the Devil
as smoothly as piercing butter,
and no trouble at all.
Masked of Virtue and wearing His Name
We would begin to worship the wrong one.
and a fall,
since that day;
The day
Man was born.
