Sunday, April 1, 2012


On the beach the white sands roared,
roared of ages long since past,
roared of burning white-hot heat,
roared of the trampling legions of feet.

Above the beach the white gulls soared,
soared, crying to be free at last,
soared, yearning to the last wing beat
soared, until that end we all must meet.

Below the beach tiny creatures bored,
bored their tunnels of death so fast,
bored until their myriad tasks complete,
bored now, their rest so replete.

So now I in the sand throw my blood-burned sword,
sword which so long ago in hot fires was cast,
sword forged for Legions that won many a feat,
sword now in my agony unused, now alone in defeat.

mindbringer, 31 March 2012