Okay, color me obsessed by a show. Call me what you will. I've written some poems, and yes, they were inspired by the t.v. show Highlander: The Series. Maybe it's because the show gives me a good case of "the ponders." Immortality. Loss. Relationships. Morality. Survival. There's quite a bit there to work with. Also, with these themes to work with, the writers of the show created characters that are by turns noble and tragic, brave and cowardly, wise, and at times, just as confused as we are. So, I'm obsessed. And I'm okay with it.
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Post mortem
Drown in a pool of open air; throat closes, fist tightens.
Rage as silent as lightning flash
Silence like thunder crashing.
Desire, a thirst with a metallic taste--
the blade, an extension of the emptiness and separation.
(Not as other men, no.)
Swallow disgust and move to more destruction,
unleash terror like arrows of vengeance,
and wreak yourself on an unfair world
that makes monsters of men who feel.
(loss after loss, life after life, death after death)
Demand, kill, take and will,
feel the power riding you,
but no amount of lives will fill the emptiness
of the first death.
*******
The Men of the Horse
Panic.
Hooves drawing nigh
fear on the wind
screams to the skies
the silence of god
***
Like a plague, moving across the land,
unstoppable--
this is their approach.
Their very beginning was others' end.
(Pestilence?)
The rider turns a scarred eye on the scene below.
Inexorable as time itself, he gives the cry,
(War!)
And the man, whose soul is gentle,
but has destructive strength
raises axe and lays waste.
Following close behind,
(Famine!)
a figure, ravening,
devours and smiles at the taste of blood,
carrion birds' and wild dogs' feast,
lusting for the kill.
And not least
(Death.)
cold and sharp as bronze itself,
a man for the ages
bringing quiet rest.
***
Blood.
Thick on the blade,
sunk into the ground,
scenting the air,
staining their hands.
***
When they are mentioned, even the stories can not speak
the words to explain
how the few take the many by storm
leaving nothing.
*****
Nothing you want
That was what they saw--
something they took by force, a thing
forced to please and be silent;
made to obey by the threat of death.
But there is something that can't
be killed--the self,
knowing one is not a thing.
That is what endures and breeds endurance.
Here--face your nothing,
and realize what it has become,
human--able to rage, to feel, to be strong,
and even strong enough to face eyes that
once saw nothing,
and defy them to see nothing now.
*****
The Lesson Learned
Outlived follies, outlived hopes, outlived love?
Never--that can never be, because that would
be death.
The heart still swells, still aches
in spite of all experience.
No, to spite all experience; to hell with
regrets.
(Maybe we are our joys and regrets.)
Figured it all out? No, not yet.
The only advice--live.
*****
The Invitation
Not gone, they only sleep, those days--
glory-filled and power-drenched,
for such things are gold that can't be spent.
No, they are not gone, those ancient days.
They can't be laid down, not those old ways.
A life once lived to the pitch of perfection
can't be set aside or even forgotten.
There can be no forsaking of those old ways.
You can not deny what you were meant to be.
There is one nature we carry from cradle to grave--
a nature we share, and it can not be saved.
It's useless to deny what you were meant to be.
They are not gone, those ancient days.
Come with me--return to the old ways.
This is what you were meant to be.
*****
Time And Eternity
Yesterday is no nearer than you
as long as I have memories.
The past may rest, and yet
dream dreams;
you might believe it present now.
As Time falls for Eternity,
I fall for a memory
and as Eternity stays true to Time
you remain true to me.