The merciful are brought mercy;
dead are sprung back to life, like the magical fairies and their wings, a caress, a kiss?
Upon the dying soldier’s lips. The singing in the ears that won’t hear, the beginning of our quest for bliss?
The gun is my heartbeats, the hour my veins.
The mind of the war-torn, like my ears in the form of the vibrating planes.
My eyes see like seeing all my wars, but my hands fumble, like all thumbs-
the lame-ing of the coldest war on our hearts, that hath begun-
— —
The overscore is the reckoning, and this is what we know; that war fights war alongside the fight wars told. War is war, and the humans over the mountains.
The uprise in overture, into the skies of the All Mighty.
The gates unlock, to let loosed the waltz of destiny from within. Whilst the shakening of Earth be the crumbling of the days.
The hour’s gaze, in the midst of our trials and tribulations does our brigade.
The nurse is the great bandage-er of fate, for she whispers in our ears the tears that drench freckles in the form of water ‘crossed our face-
she is the invisible hand that reaches for your arm. She is the ‘there for one minute’, just before the flash of our once memory’s departure, and replaced;
in her place be the enemy, that we fight against, and my locket suddenly becomes a blade-
and the sound of her voice changes into the bogies at 1:00 in the form of a staring-back gaze-
— —
The mind plays games with you, as you slumber. The hour is now noon, outside the cold air is a wicked force that keeps a man with the flu from frolicking again-
To keep this child at heart from walking the sunlight’s walk, in the shadows of God’s art.
The beauty is this: that the sun shines down upon football stadiums, courts, and even hospice.
The rain drenches over the joyful, wicked, peaceful, believers, and even the heartless.
The sound of music unlocks the mind, and I am tossed into the rays;
when the night unlocks the dancing of the very stars, that the artist cries out for days.
Copyright
November 16, 2018
