Standing on the shaman’s crossing with one foot in the forest
My old self locked within, one more whisper in the chorus
Of dappled shade, soft loam and moss
Of tickling breeze, and kin we’ve lost
Of fallen trees along the road
A dead grey thing they force to grow
But a soldier’s duty must be done
War must be ended, once begun
The dancers and the pestilence
The comrades we have laid to rest
Because of them!
Because of us?
Who speaks the truth?
Who can I trust?
Standing on the fearsome thing that pierces the forest’s heart
My old self now ascendant, no idea where to start
The ancestors and the flowing sap
The blue-black berries and mushroom caps
The sword and whip and musket lead
Those who are dying, those who are dead
The growing grey or the shrinking green?
The fireflies or the kings and the queens?
The scholars and schools?
The songs a lost people sing?
My insincts?
Or my upbringing?

Inspired by Saturday Scribes and Robin Hobb’s Soldier Son trilogy.


The URI to TrackBack this entry is:

RSS feed for comments on this post.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: