Laid to Rest

A tiresome warrior, has finally returned home, unsure

Of how to live outside, of constant deafening chaos,

He softly ventures, through the shrouded solace

With his trusted chaos companion, sheathed at his side,

Gripped, with an unabandoned fury, and haunting paranoia,

There are enemies, all around, in the whistling trees

And the rustling fallen debris, slowly sinking into the dirt,

The horrified soldier, in sight, is the besieging eagle,

Ever watchful, of the cascading embers, dancing

Between the branches, carrying, the snug noose,

Tightly gripping the necks, of all those, lost to battle,

Drumming louder, in the abounding rippling wind

That carries, the ghostly whispers of stranded soldiers,

Blood, burned into his senses, seeing it blanket

The calm solitude of his surroundings, stained,

He slinks down, closer to inferno, trying to distinguish

The subtle shrieks, that are so uncomfortably familiar,

Resounding throughout the petrichor, a place of ease,

Is torturous, all he can envision, is the death soaked battleground

That he crawled through, for he’s still there, crawling,

Or at least, his mind is, entrapped by the chaos,

Pounding steel agaisnt steel, dauntingly reverberating,

Bringing him down to his knees, a moment running parallel,

Explosions of birds chirping, and red sunlight sprays,

He lays, in the fragments, of loose branches, and shrapnel leaves,

He has never vacated the field, on which so many perished

By the mighty swing, of his notched battleaxe,

After all he has done, he slowly slips into darkness alone

In the calming caress of nature, while every ounce of misery

He dealt, is plunged into him, unable to withstand the agony,

Nature notices his torment, bestows pity upon the suffering,

Grows its roots, into a concentration, of sweet embrace,

His pulse steadies a bit, his sight clears from the shadows,

And can finally see, the pleasant tranquil brushstrokes,

Everything is composed, as he feels it all dissolve,

He shuts his eyes, and becomes nature, forever dormant.

Advertisements

Crippling Tree

image

Silence, is awakened by her gusting approach,
Towing with her, another key
From a cold bearing decline,
Temperately landing, amongst the baron branches
That struggles to keep the dangling tales,
When she shrills, a story floods the roots
Unlocked, by the tightly fastened noose
In the shadow of a key,
Weighing down a stunted climb
By hollow horrors in a fabled squawk,
Each bellow of a splattered sentence
Further opens the gaping sinkhole,
She finds distance, to only bestow
An overshadowed key, etched into it
Lies doom, a haunting cloud that rumbles
In the throat of the high winged soar,
A storm that drums the sapless
Held on tightly in constraints
Of the weaved bubble from dirty talons
Fabricating life, and glorifying darkness, Now the tree resides as a sumo
With dear in it’s roots,
Being hugged, by consumption,
Dressed, in an overcrowding, blind deceit,
A warning, never to cross the Rubicon.

©DorianPoe 2015

Born Again

image

She has been laid, here,
Under the lonesome perch
Of the lost sun behind sunken ships, Yet, she sprouts out from the dead
Underground of captivity,
Blossoming beyond a splintered world,
She rages within her darting flourish Pushing back an enraged dragon
That no knight can surrender,
She, who has grown from demise
Towers over her mourner,
Shadowing him from torrential downfall.

The Reasons

image

She waits for him
On the island suspended
Above the ugly,
She waits for his warmth
To burst above the horizon,
She patiently counts the ticks
Of the echo
That builds upon her anticipation,
Needing him
To calm her soul,
To nurture her dry heart,
She waits in the tundra orbit
Alone, amongst the crowd of stars,
Until he lays beside her,
She beckons for him
So that she can grow,
She does all this
Without realizing her strength,
That it is she
That is needed by him,
She is the picturesque illuminating
The hidden dark,
She stands taller than the
Light reaches,
He can not compare
To what she does to him,
He burns passion
Above the methodical
For her,
She is his reason
For the short winter,
But when she’s gone,
His fire, grows silent,
The lap around the earth
Is to once again,
Find her
On that solitary island
Where she waits for him.

The Growing

image

Deep, in the forgotten,
Stems years of drugging,
Bringing to surface the beaten
That stands on its stiffened tears,
Lost in the collection
And it’s echo,
The growing
Stumps
And bows,
The ashes fall around
Blanketing those underneath
And evading those outside,
Keeping warm the terrors
That keep the watchful one
Perched on bust,
The growing never rests
Suspicious of it’s friends
As he buried himself
Deep within hollow roots,
Its a lucid plane
Beyond it’s stance,
But the cloud’s brew
Thickens the gray,
As it shivers the dry growth,
For the growing
Sees further into the dirt.

Afterburn

image

A soldier in the field,
Crunching through the charred greens
Of a world buried beneath the inferno,
The ashes of a home
Swim at the soldiers feet,
He bows down beneath the wind
To pick up a burnt childhood,
As dreams break away in pieces,
He carries what’s left to the burning tree
And just before he tosses it in,
An offspring of nature
Distracts the soldier from falling erosion,
Wings carry hope to the wounded soil.