soniacookbroen
the tempest
I’m not alone…wanderer
I’m not the creeping darkness above the sunset
the waiting turn of the moon before it is new
I lie and dream of your caress
your hand against my flesh
through the tempered folds of time I unravel each second in my mind
as though each one is falling into being now.
My love has come and gone
ebbed and flowed
as the tide beneath pale moonlight
swallowing up the carvings I etched in the sand
the dunes I crossed to reach your foreign lands
all this waiting anticipation
while across the world a warrior is waiting
sword held high and hopes higher
cause to fight his one desire
still the storm within his head
and swirling visions
once worlds were wed
and nations falling into play
March forth they say
on judgment day
the end is nigh
across their sky
such turbulence to which they’re born
they have never known the freedom of no war
an endless war is what they wanted
those whose power death decided
and now the self-fulfilling prophecy
of tales of old newly sold
repackaged in a modern form
with the same abuses
only more
revelations without realization
and a for-profit war