Battlefield
It was the kitchen knife piercing the skin for the very first time;
It fitted like a moonlit silver ring fits under a pale dime;
The cold blade waltzing on the upper arm, leaving red rills,
Triggered a hellbent contract, signed with fresh crimson quill.
It was the relief of the blood, gushing like a war of careless bodies;
The backstabs and the ashes of golden good faith treaties;
Like pure ache, past redemptions and purple bruises,
And the smoldering songs of the wind’s whispering muses.
It was the longing for a hopeful morning glory;
A promised land with heavy clouds, painted hoary;
A soul in agony, begging for the relief of that pain,
That ragingly reigned, tears turned into rain.
It was the dream of a sailor who sailed on a sorrowful ocean,
In burning sunsets like an albatross’s devotion;
The crows that sang, the melodies of the obscene,
Where the lamenting voices meet in fields of green.
The wonderer wandering over cloudy mountains;
Flowing fables in the whitest marble fountains;
The pale blue peace picturing a meticulous arrayal,
But somewhere in that haze, longingly laid betrayal.
Front battles, bruised knuckles, blood shed,
Death rattles, more battles, hopes dead,
Crimson clovers, blowing smoke, endless fall,
Long lost lovers, burning oak, sirens call.
The banners torn down, faced with the treasons,
Of tears and fears, and the passing of seasons;
Eyes are daggers that stab through the glass,
Of self hatred and longing for greener grass.
Hypnotized by the mirror’s cruel gaze, like a relentless attack;
My soul weeping, staring at the remains of a fierce combat;
Haunting thoughts still unyieldingly hovering above,
The battlefield where loathe defeated love.