Having come through the horrors with
My mind raked against bloody sidewalks
I scream calmly
Years before the sound comes

The breeze ignores me
And nature is nothing more than a dream
Pictures to a dead man
Waiting the dull violence of one last fight

Through the nightmarish tapestry
Shredded and woven into my eyes
I can still make out my tattered dreams
And piece together her smile

Swords are lighter nowadays
And I am like some behemoth
Fearsome to look at, but easy to mark
Even my wounds bleed slowly

I will make my bed here
Among the yellow flowers
And let the earth drink my aged sorrow
That I might return to her again.

May 17, 2004