Where I’m going
I must have an iron heart,
stalwart and stony against
the frozen rushes of the night
that ambush in my sleep-
finding food in dreams of yore
and devouring memories.
Where I venture,
mere skin and flesh are poor defenses
against arrows of ice
that rain down on pools
of ripely reaped blood-
and sting my cheeks with metal kisses
that cake my wounds in poison mud.
Where I journey,
only a mortar hide will
shield my spirit, and a
cloak of mail will veil my head
from stranger tears that mewl like acid-
boring sores into my soul,
stringing my hair into ashes.
Where I’m going
I must have an iron heart,
for hearts that bleed beg mercy
from loping shadows of the reach-
weeping red as the storm closes
and praying to the faceless stars
for light to mend their bruises.
Not one of my better poems, but I’ve been fairly busy lately and unable to actually sit down and put effort into it. I’ve been working on a bigger project too, so that’s been taking up a lot of my time.
Stellular Scribe 