Tag: battle

Slave’s Still Fight

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I am immense
And stuck
And broken in my battle;
Giants tearing trees
And Titans throwing boulders.

How do I convey my meanings
When I am unreasonable
Living inside a dream
Of everyone’s meaning well.

Does my habit become your habit?
Do I lose myself into you?
Does my soil sprout many plants?
Can I hope to grow with you?

For my beast of rage
Within my deep breaths
Is evermore, everclear,
And hoping for more tomorrow
For my heart fights back
My heart fights for freedom
In a change
That cannot grow faithfully
To the slave of a great wrong.

Deserveth

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For if I got to sail’s end
Upon the glee of life
Should shake the dust
From each thy sword
To battle, ho! Thy fun!
Not of angry blood spilled
In trod battlefield,
Nor in a race of men,
But in thy quest of spiriting
Each bone amidst my quest.
Shake me, again!
For should I not arise
To meet each day with grit,
I should sooner be trampled afoot
Each horse drawing mighty Hades
Crumpled into an unfit mess
Deserveth of lack spent.
So gracefully, then,
I grab thy sword
Clean ‘er pommel to point
Place her not to rest at bay
Amidst cocooning leather bound,
Place her strong within thy grasp
Of ambition and desire for life!

For Tomorrow (Broken Arrow) (day 3203)

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I chose the path of a broken arrow
Bent and fragmented
In the soil I grow
For once I was mad
With hate so hot
Spent life speeding
From spot to target
With venemous fuel.
I was long and straight,
I fought a great battle
Now I’m bent
And given away
My grace and beauty
For a place exposed
To wiles and whims
Of nature’s fancy
Where the guise of time
Will swallow me whole
As a man in slippers
On a dirt path
For tomorrow.

Dirt and the Saints (day 3041)

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I sat there understanding nothing
No question to my mind
Yet sorted out was a figment
Lost in a region I wouldn’t dare enter again
For I had fought that battle
Recklessly
I had lain that flying Dragon down
With my Sword I had wielded mighty
Patiently sitting
Understanding nothing
And staving off the thoughts
That raced around mine head
For inside of them
Lurked what voices I had yet to recognize
Some surely to be Saints
Some no doubt to be Dirt.

These Gods (day 3008)

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Who are the Gods I’ve begun to believe in?
What makes them speak?
If I were to close my eyes
Would they still be helping me?
Could I run far
Without them on my mind?
If they were not so mighty
Would they still be Grand?
And if my Gods
Found other Gods that opposed them
Would they sit down and talk
Eye to eye
God to God
Or would I be called to battle
At the front line
Against the danger of my Gods
Longevity.
Would I still believe so strongly
That my God was a God worthy
Of my blood in battle?
Or would I let my God down,
Find another God that more appeased
My gentle demeanor,
Find another God
I didn’t have to fully submit to
And could pick and choose
How and when I worshiped.

Rippling Madness (day 2098)

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I woke into a fright
Although I had it under control
I charged ahead
I yelled out loud
My fierce was pounding lurch
For left into my rippling mass
A spearhead lodged between
My very fourth and fifth rib
Grazing my own beating heart
I looked into wild eyes
Victor of my battling stone
True friend in waking hours
Had become distant as a cloud
To which my heart that had beat for
Beat for nevermore.

Rippling Madness by Ned Tobin

This Shall Be the One (day 1883)

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In all the battles I seek to shine
This shall be the one
This shall take my hand and glow
This shall be the one

In every corner I stare upon
This shall sway my voice
This shall be my saving grace
This shall sway my voice

In all the windows I look out from
This shall find my sun
This shall be my simple tree
This shall find my sun

Night Air (day 1790)

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I’ve got anger seeping into my blue blood veins
Letting animosity fuel this deep inside fire
This isn’t dragging me down, boy, hell no.
For the sky’s calling me higher then high.
This is a lesson of life with a cruel world twist,
But no man’s heart has ever been softer
Nor shall erosion get at it’s strength.
No, this is a quest in growth,
With a battle-cry ringing out in cooling night air.

Edge (day 1643)

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We all shake our gates to the sound of riddled irons
Ricocheting off midnight streets in lonely battle cries.
We dress formal, we provide answers,
We lose sight of retail for a better lease on life.
We do this. We pound our own hammer
With all our might, until fatal the blow
Or sharp the edge.

Edge by Ned Tobin