Evening Rush

At the last stroke of the evening bell
More sinless men than sere leaves fell

Smoke went up the air, while souls
Of those dead warped to vile ghouls
In one decaying instant the great blue sky
Made devoid of its cosmic repose and joy

Echoes of distant gunshots heard
In a clamor of prayer and pleas, restless
In a conflict of the dying and deceased

Neither a moment nor a minute to be
When the thunder of cavalry
Would drown cries and roars whole
Of fierce men, of their tears that console

Far from the growing green fields here
Distant to the glow of dawn’s new sun
Mazed within shadows of fury and fear

Poised gunmen at an onrush of deathly desire
Voiceless, the wind cries with roaring fire
One by one, bullets, shrapnel shot ahead
One by one, swiftly unfought, several fell dead

All in a boiling winter, a heated battle
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter rain blooded rain
Seasons and reasons both at once turn insane

Beyond the edge of darkness, a hope for
Light remains, whether it is victory or loss
The grass is always much less red
On the other side it was said

Demon Of Might

Deep within the dwarven dwelling
The search for grey glitter unending
They delved in too far, to awaken
A demon, from the light forsaken

This dark creature took flight
With wings of shadow and firelight

A faithful servant of wrath
Chaos endures in its very path
Alone stood the wise wizard, grey
Only to fall like a pliable prey

While the demon worked a vicious whiplash
Vainly fought the wizard before his crash
Flame and wisdom both fell
Descending far through a stygian well

Virtuous Visage

What face belongs to darkness that veils
Horrid vices, perjury and more malice

Is it really death’s visage, an image
Riddled with the innocence of man

How soulfully this task is done
In the blistering rage of the sun
Or the waning moon’s night

Which of the divine angles guide?
This pilgrim through sin after sin
Even to endure the greater of seven
Which is pride

Blood less red and more dread
In the hallways of his crime
To what stairway is this man led?
At a time past his time


Does this face still lie hidden?
Within bereft souls angst ridden
The face of a less familiar felon
But of a man no less ordinary
Perhaps more woeful than those
At his grasp whom death chose not