I am a Storyteller, first and foremost. This is my blog for poetry, prose, stories, excerpts of my novels and videos. Life poetry, prophetic poetry, poetry for all genres. I think you'll find yourself here if you read long enough.
The Last Warrior (in the land of machines) Cold, steel gray eyes like arrows shooting out sparks Of disenchantment, he steps into the dawn of a new day Yawning away the taste of dreams and reaching forth to Draw the sun into his arms so full of emptiness. He smiles at his reflection in the puddle left by last night's rain Distant memories of thunder and white lightning Bouncing off the green hills and the glens, far away mountains And deep, dark caves full of OtherKind and people not his own. Muscular arms and legs clothed in warrior's garb, nimble feet in deerskin boots Carry him to the forest's edge, quiet as the WolfKind and swiftly as the hawk Beyond those trees lies another land, another world A world full of mystery, wonder and danger. Tales he knows well from childhood Told by people long dead And ascended into the night world above the stars He is alone.
Shaking back his long, dark hair and rubbing sleep out of fresh, awakened eyes, He listens to the calls he does not recognize echoing from the forest's midst And from places he can never say he's known. Today, he thinks, today I will Enter that forest and confront the owners of those voices. Today, I will go and fight them For what is the good of being a warrior without a war? Who is here still to challenge me and taste my strength? There is no one here but the bear who is my friend And the unseen ones who live in shadow and never show their skin Who is here to fight or slay...or love? Peering through the trees, he tries hard to make out any form of life There in the darkness of their shade but sees none And yet his ears are full of their many sounds Tomorrow, he thinks. Tomorrow.... Tomorrow, I will go and seek them out. Those who taunt me and call to one another in unknown tongues I will confront them He says softly and turns for home, the night falling now Around his shoulders like leaves in autumn, his feet treading lightly Upon the ground silent as the stars. Lying on his back in the firelight's glow, he looks into the sky and wonders If the others can see him there below and asks them for their guidance I will go, he says to the night wind as his eyes close, I will And the night wind whispers across his heart And utters urgent words into his sleeping ears: Yes, tomorrow you will go, my son, but not through the forest to die At the hands of mindless strangers but through the sky above the stars Into the night world where the warriors wait for you You must go, for there is no place left here for your kind anymore. Tomorrow they will cut down the trees and build a city in the place Where now your head lies full of dreams. Tomorrow you will go for this is a battle Fought with mechanical hands and with cold steel feet trampling down green hills And valleys full of memories since time's birth. It cannot be fought by fighting flesh or warrior's hand, this battle of machine And progress, more a curse than a blessing from where we watch It's movements up on high Breathe your last breaths and dream your last dreams, my son.
And then tomorrow go from here to fight no more forever For the battle that you seek is futile to your soul And endless in it's pursuance And it cannot be won.
