Feud

There;

A glint of hope shifts

with the sway of silver

with one blow

from Natures sweet breath.

~

 

His Celtic, engraved sword

lay among the dead screams

in ambushes wake.

Images flash like a photo book

of men, young and old

being struck as if Zeus himself

had a part in the battle cry

Bored with mere mortals petty battles

the skies part as two bolts fly

sizzling through the midnight mist

striking all who

chose this path of

participation.

Mournful pipes play for the dead and dieing

while those weeping walk through in a daze.

Eyes clouded in their own coffin shrouds

calling names fervently,

waiting for,

“Here!

Here I lay

betwixt Mother Earth and Father Death.

Bring posies this way for the stench of decay.”

~

 

No body do I see,

resembling the man I know.

The one to wield this mixture of blood and power

carved from the mountains’ side.

Gifted and bestowed for his Devine right to rule.

 

 

~Angela Beck