Take me with you, within your mind;
Hold my hand
And tell me the rabbit hole has room for two
The unstable building…
The rattle of warning went unheard.
A warrior’s arrogance,
Seasoned with brute force and directness,
Ceased the hand of mercy.
He cried, weeping at the barrenness,
The null within his hollow arms;
Uncaring in his sorrow that the predator lurked,
He didn’t care, without her, he didn’t care.
What chains can hold a broken spirit?
A life already dead can not be resurrected.
And with what, can a mortal bargain a miracle?
Pure debts unpaid cannot be met with filth.
Yet, the victor gets his cut,
The tax, its due;
The lender what was borrowed,
The dog, its day.
Swallow back the sorrow and decay,
Clench the fist of futility;
And bury that which is precious yet lost,
Swear allegiance to the guardians of death and revenge.
When the eyes of grief behold only anguish,
When the only organ that beats is rage;
After the streams and rivers are choked with
Shattered husks and bodies.
What then? Oh mortal, when your chalice overflows,
And you pick the bones at your trestle;
When your arms are still shattered, empty.
What solace is conquest?
Can the sword extract the pain?
Does the slaughter of thousands
Erase your blood-slicked agony?