History Sleeps (day 688)

And your swords
Heel’t by the pressures of oath
Forcing thought from mind
Into duty, sworn and bred


It is here where deceit grows
Amongst the cobwebs of freedom
Faith of the free
Growing dissonance


But straightened backs
And freshly pressed regalia
Adorned with pride and service
Calm thy boiling blood


Hindered with loathe
Confidants biding their time
In halls of betrayal
Seething with ego

Unnatural betrayal hidden
Behind blind eyes of service
Suckling the easy tit of


While memories float frequently
Between graying hairs
And balding victories
Scavenging the lands of truth

Relying on honor
A choice and a path
Not a reason or calling
But inward honesty


Though demons fight unceasingly
Through hushed dark corridors
Escape routes of the squeamish
Icicles of setting winter


Until the end remains clear
Ancient avenues of chestnut trees
Above the family crypt
History sleeps as change begins

Stranger (day 604)

A passing stranger steps onto the street
Three wise men watch him with their eyes
Pulling apart the layers of unknown
With one single nod it’s all gone to waste

Flying with patience an assault comes ahead
Loaded with a single sword
One made to draw the blood of valiant men
The attack goes ahead

Hands moving without thought
Trained for this night
The four become one
Across the rough surface of the street

Clanging swords ring out into the night
Intensified by the glaring moon high in the sky
The warrior’s shadows all bounce off the walls
Leaving traces carved out on the surfaces

One man with hair tied high above his head
Yells out into the night
A victim to the strangers sword:
One knee, sword curled into the heart

The three that remain round into the stable
Horses are gone; all out for the night
Only the warriors remain
The magician starts the fire and the blazing builds

One nick on the shoulder for the stranger in rags
The wise men were right, they knew who he was
Staring and breathing and allowing it to flow
The three, instant action, begin once again

A sword through the neck takes down the second wise man
His long netted hair flails out in a circle
Around the dying corpse, gasping for breath
Flying down low, another life for you now

With that quick flick of the wrist, two is all who remain
A wise man now friendless, and the stranger in rags
They know it has come to this, they saw it begin
A few knowing glances, a few words to share

But not with this bounty, the booty in rags
Tucked deep inside, is what they came for at last
It is death for one more, this battle is fast
Swords drawn for attack and a rush to the head

Circling one another they trace out their path
The fight and its wings is back on the street
With swords flashing wildly repeating their names
The masters dance in the ancient martial art

Without a noise escaping their mouths
The show, a pure form and fashion, carries on
Dust kicking up and the moons glare from all angles
Then, instantaneous rest

A calming all around as if hushed by the night
Settling of the dust, echoing of the night
And footsteps leading away, one last wise man dead
One stranger continues, awaiting the next challengers without relent

My War Song (day 192)

Rebel! My gangly warriors
Adjust your masks and ready
Brace yourselves
Against all time
And prepare yourselves with knowledge
Fear not the chief
Of thine enemy
Who claims to have valor
For we all know
Those colours clad
Lack the strength we carry in ours
Unite! Great men,
Hold your swords up high
Rebel yell!
Reach down to hell
Let the strength and fight begin!