UNTITLED VERSE II

_{pixabay: pixelanarchy}

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The fight is at an end
And yet another begins.
The ripple of a pond shakes the water lily,
A frog jumps into a snake's coiled spring,
Death is swift in the stillness
Of chirping crickets in an afternoon heat.

The battle will be swift
For broken bodies litter broken minds
And broken fingers can no longer
Grasp the fullness of despair.
Crawling through weeds, the lioness,
She pauses and scents the anus
Of a dying world.

She wants a taste of meat
But the worms got here first.
Carrion birds circle the heavens
With beady eyes and cruel beaks.
The ribs of the cubs would not be left.
Every bone will be broken,
Marrows sucked and flesh rendered.

Rusting swords ring under the sun.
Blades forged of blood and sin,
Curses wrapped around their pommels,
Death kissing their corroded edges.
Victors and victims screaming for peace,
Eyes wild with relief when death comes.

The wind weeps against the trees
And broken branches drag warriors
On sleighs to mythical underworlds
Of gods, mead and maidens,
Reincarnations, ascensions and
Of course resurrections.

This fight will be fought again
When this one is done,
When the victor gathers his breath
And let's his weary arms to fall,
When the battlefield is silent
And vultures stand before men
Like judges seeking the bone
Of the matter, when death is done.

A new sun will soon rise and sully
The grandness of this victory.
It will sally forth, framing a picture,
Dreaming a glittering dream,
Holding a wife's token beneath mail
Until after two sword strikes
And death begins to beckon
Then it would realize that this war
Had been fought before
And each time everything was lost.

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