Sunday, April 30, 2006

Song of War

The final wedge is driven
up beneath my breastbone
by my father, from whom I never
thought to look for it.

I seek the red tiger now,
as he bounds through snow -
my arrow, my sword.

Like an ember he burns
my path forward from here
in the wake of the rising sun,
through the cycles of the moon.

I choose not the way of the warrior,
it chooses me.
I make my most perfect bow
and sing to my ancestors
for a good day to die.

5 Comments:

Blogger Martyn said...

Thanks for sharing. I really enjoyed that.

3:37 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

Hey thanks Martyn. Nice to meet you. And thanks for the cool 'colour green' thing!

3:46 PM  
Blogger Pat Paulk said...

Excellent poem!!!

8:22 AM  
Blogger keros said...

Nice Job- enjoyed reading this.

11:05 AM  
Blogger burning moon said...

hello Pat, welcome and thank you.

Keros, thanks.

1:04 PM  

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