Saturday, April 2, 2016

Every man is a warrior















My father knows of this old fight;
this game we all must play.
His eyes have seen the pieces move,
dominoes falling into light.
Thrust so suddenly from the gray,
miscarriages in her womb.
He has cried for my fearful way,
and become humble before god.

My mother, my sister, my girl...
I was scared of my father's tears.
His arms held back waves for so long,
nurturing you like fine pearls.
Held safe inside all those years;
we learned the line of right and wrong.
But now, darling ones, hes not here,
and I cry for the man I know Im not.

With shaking hands I recognize pawns;
those for whom there was never  hope.
Jaded, aged, hyper vigilant,
I watch the world's fallen icons.
And Im sad... and tired...trying to cope,
my brothers on the front already spent.
Knowing within, there's no use with soap,
my hands are stained red.

I swear by the sword on my shoulder
to protect those under my care.
For the tears of a gentle man,
Ill become a dawn guard soldier.
With rebellious eyes and low prayer,
teach me and make me understand.
Because I have much to keep safe...
and no more chances to spare.


music






3 comments:

  1. This is full of truth Michael. Chess is always a great metaphor for life and the true struggles of it.

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  2. your last verse is splendidly written and ever so poignant

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  3. 'I swear by the sword on my shoulder
    to protect those under my care.' ~ strong words and powerful poem.

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