Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Poetry

Here the battlements behind which we stand,
There the combat come to force this hand.
This my sweat thigh-wiped to steady my bolt,
That my mark slow forward and bold.

Cross, bow, Cross, bough, Cross, bow
Loss, now, Loss, thou, Loss, no.

Come up, come up, and I'll go down, go down,
Down deep inside this stoned castle,
As you come high aside me up here.

Look over there. That's a lovely creek.
See that grove? My grands planted that.
Hear the wind against that banner?
It used to be our banner, back when, back then.

How did we ever get this way?
Me, up here and staring down a shaft.
You, down there and staring up a wall.
And I miss a time when it was just.

My order comes, Let loose, let fly
But who or what let I loose?
Who or what let I fly?
Please, please,
Fly.

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Is this wise?
Is this yours?
Is this love?

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