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Open Poetry #37
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RedStoneEB
Senior Member
since 2003-06-08
Posts 772
uk

0 posted 2006-05-10 05:42 PM



I

My sword! my sword! to death!
To march from th’ smile of my lover--
Strike now th’ heart! strike me dead!
Send flowers to those fallen--
nurse thy wounds for me after I am gone
Lo! I still hath breath to giveth.
Oh, heavenly father, make bow--
Th’ hearts of romance hast fallen
may it fold into a star to be a remembrance.

II

To doom the nightingales hath gathered--
rise up the spirited spears
avenging those in front soon to be dead!
I saw the sky blood red--
I did do swear see th’ reaper
reaping a field of souls.
I walked abroad the spirited realms--
nor breath, nor speech dost cometh
what wistful star be none in sight!

III

Passing, passing, passing,
Oh how cold the ground seems now--
what blood be mine alone.
Th’ boy beside lay now in rest--
no memory of an age but innocence.
And mourn the sea of screams did I--
stranger yet-- did not pay my respect to th’ dead
the vanished form hath none more battles to be fought.

IV

Call for me when I am not dead
Then cries for me when death do we part--
upon which grave shall I be buried.
Th’ fools of the courage rest together bonded--
wilt I be alone beneath the ground or with the many?
Dust not my memory from this ground or any other.
Who was dearest so lured to compel--
thro’ th’ tears that fell from families
coming to collect the dead.

V

Th’ stars no longer should be for romance
Let them be a remembrance of faces--
Form—Of form let them be remembered
what name could ever hold a passion for the tongue.
Now to the sea let me voyage away to a native shore--
far—far away from home, thro’ the crowded docks
death follows hungry in their eyes.
Soldiers hath gathered sweethearts around--
I left mine at home to mourn for me
mourn for me—before death becomes of me

VI

She whispers in the deepest waters
The tales of the old be myth nor lie!
Or is it still a memory I never mourned her passing by--
her voice lingers like dew upon a leaf
what thoughts alone shall catch the sacrifice.
Though truly she remains at home--
un-dead be it not my soul to forgive our promise
abloom be romance now no longer star.

VII

Oh, there th’ eyes from soldiers of the damned
dost stand upon the hills in rusty armour bands.
Which one can say without a doubt--
our breasts hold a beating of th’ same heart
and death on both sides be a loss upon the weaker few.
A moment more it will be night and th’ moon shall watch--
she’ll sit and cry the rain, but oh,
to whom dost she cry? She cried for all of us.

Clash! Clash! Clash!
The battle hath drawn first blood!
Another boy beside me now no older than my son--
Whom doth not know how to hold his sword
nor the power, nor the will!
Another sword cometh near aiming for the weakness--
And now I knew—knew my time had come
I beneath lay in rest whilst th’ boy knew not--
he was keener than the rest
But oh, to the times he shall live to see.

VIII

So little is known about death—an idea sits in wait
to gather all the past together in what sweet ways--
waiting for the final breath to come—to come.
Send flowers to those fallen,
nurse thy wounds for me after I am gone--
my heart now fallen--
may It fold into a star to be remembered by.

© Copyright 2006 Lee Hepworth - All Rights Reserved
Midnitesun
Deputy Moderator 1 Tour
Member Empyrean
since 2001-05-18
Posts 28647
Gaia
1 posted 2006-05-10 10:37 PM


I can almost hear you reading this one, upon a stage, in a soldier's uniform...
an elaborate epic write, RedStone!

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