A rushing heart, a flaming sword,
the fire of rage behind the window sealed;
the unstable house crumbles
and all around the day dissolves,
darkened night and twilight none.
Softened falls with shards of soul,
do not o'errule the standard strike;
recompence without remorse,
the payment of the truth beyond
the familiar meadow dewed.
They see but cannot care,
no honor stands within.
Valor gold is fickle as water,
and flows as blood upon the field.
Blackened ash, the burned out flame,
the heart resting still.
The final lash leaves the life,
but snuffs away the light.
Author notes
Written April 22nd, 2006
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Sad and so many households are this way. A very good write.
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Your poems are almost as amazing as your stories! Keep up the excellent writing, I can tell you are going to go far with it.
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