Underground_Network
January 7th, 2010, 04:15 PM
Warriors bathe their wounds in sunlight
Thinking the heat will dry their porous skin.
They have spent too much time
In the heat of battle,
Heads down, arms out,
Hearts prying open the sky,
Swords flying, death
Slowly passing the time.
When not active
In swordplay
Or gun-play
Or death-play,
They twiddle their thumbs,
And bite away at their nails,
Counting the seconds
Until the next awakening.
When they are asleep
Their eyes are open
Because they live
On fear,
In fear,
Within Fear.
They think the sun will heal
Their deep, embedded wounds,
The marks left by time
And by death upon their naves,
Upon their chests, their throats, their legs.
But they, they should be looking down
At Earth, not up,
Toward the ever-tumultuous,
Riotous sun.
Thinking the heat will dry their porous skin.
They have spent too much time
In the heat of battle,
Heads down, arms out,
Hearts prying open the sky,
Swords flying, death
Slowly passing the time.
When not active
In swordplay
Or gun-play
Or death-play,
They twiddle their thumbs,
And bite away at their nails,
Counting the seconds
Until the next awakening.
When they are asleep
Their eyes are open
Because they live
On fear,
In fear,
Within Fear.
They think the sun will heal
Their deep, embedded wounds,
The marks left by time
And by death upon their naves,
Upon their chests, their throats, their legs.
But they, they should be looking down
At Earth, not up,
Toward the ever-tumultuous,
Riotous sun.