Seasons come and go
Some things change and some do not.
Watching blood moons rise.
Seasons come and go
Some things change and some do not.
Watching blood moons rise.
Is it really so difficult to do?
The one thing I truly ask of you?
Anything for me, you’d always say
So please leave me alone, get out of my way.
There’s nothing for you here,
and my patience is thinning.
I’m tired of your lies,
this cycle of atonement and sinning.
Go where you must,
you know i will not stop you,
turn into fire or dust,
there’s nothing left to be true to.
Continue or cease breathing,
Just leave me alone.
Your heart may be bleeding,
but mine has turned to stone.
And i shall not ask again
so don’t mistake this for a request
You may want to haunt the city of men,
but, leave me to find my rest.
And, so, don’t come knocking on my door.
for if you do, you’ll find it barred.
You may delight in sleeping on the cold hard floor,
but i’ve had my fill of scars.
And, i know you think, you truly believe
that my hatred will come to an end,
but what you want, you will never receive
And you will think thrice before calling me a friend.
So, please, leave me alone and get out of my way.
Anything for me, you would always say
Then why is it so hard for you to do
the one thing that i truly ask of you?
Prompt: First three lines from 14.03.2013
Sadness and Rage are useful things,
If you know how to transform them both
Energy is at the root of it all
And all Knowledge is Power is growth
If there is but one thing that I have learned from you,
It is that vengeance is but natural
And he who strikes, must also pay the price
All what matters is the real and actual
Well, then I hope in that moment
Before I return your dagger from my back
You give me my due credit
For acing at least your tests in diplomacy and tact.
Yes, I know I broke some precious rules,
And I understand retribution had to follow
But what you don’t know, my dear friend of old
Is that Vengeance has always been my motto
You never knew the me before this me,
Never saw past gray rags and this cloak of red
You don’t understand, dear sandbox prince
The Vengeance against my own name that I have led.
There is no forgiveness for betrayal, nor has ever been
And you can see the punishment I chose for myself
Run, little lost prince, run away somewhere far from here
When pathos turns to wrath, to pay, there will be Hell.
“Of course it does. Actual happiness always looks pretty
squalid in comparison with the over-compensations for
misery. And, of course, stability isn’t nearly so
spectacular as instability. And being contented has none
of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none
of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a
fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never
– Mustapha Mond, Brave New World
“But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin.“
– John, the Savage
[Brave New World]
Note: My first attempt at writing in an Iambic pentameter. Phew, that was hard. Fun, but hard. Inspired loosely by the Dune series. As in, I had Lady Jessica in my mind a lot when I was writing this… Muad’Dib’s mother.. Don’t know why..
The words I know, and moments sunk in time
cannot suffice to mend this burning sphere
For I am lost in words that no more rhyme
and ghosts of people who were never here
It scares me that this world is changed to fire,
A desert fuelled by hate and crude despair
And all of these betrayals leave me tired
Cannot one see how hard I tried to care?
May I tell you a secret? We could stay;
and I could swear to never speak of Rain
Within your deep embrace I’d find escape,
Though we both know I bleed these words in vain,
For there is little you would have me say
And I love you in ways words can’t explain.
He came to her, as he always did, to their chosen secret place, and she smiled as he appeared, breathing heavily from the long walk uphill.
“You’re too happy”, he grumbled, even before she’d managed to greet him.
He sighed, “Don’t be like that.”
Damian frowned, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything further. After all, she had returned to see him again, just as she had said she would. He knew it must not be easy. The tired lines around her eyes as she turned to smile at him made him feel a twinge of guilt. But he shivered at the thought of that empty, aching loneliness which was just waiting to envelop him once she was gone for good, and he cast aside those feelings of guilt. Now was not the time.
Cerid was watching him closely, a strange expression on her face as she watched Damian’s distracted frown go through a series of minor transformations, until he suddenly snapped his icy gray eyes on to her warmer brown ones, and even though she smiled comfortingly at him, the haunted look in his tired eyes made her want to cry.
But, Cerid had not cried since the war had ended. Not once. Not even when she had spent two weeks watching Damian destroy everything around him, until the cursing and swearing and whiskey and screaming was all done with, and all that remained in its place was his pale gaunt frame, surrounded only by endless destruction and stony silence. Her heart had ached as she’d watched, but she hadn’t shed a single tear.
Damian liked to believe that it was because she had run out of tears, and not because other people’s agony and pain affected her more than his. Cerid thought it had something to do with the last battle she’d been part of. Because she had had plenty of tears to shed that day. An all of a sudden, the picture of little Remo, lying in a pool of his blood, flashed through her mind.
He had been a day away from his fifth birthday. She had promised to gift him a real kite. He had been counting down the days. The day of the last air-strike… it was Roberto who had found out first. Damian had been in the middle of his own dilemma. Straddling both sides of the war, he had a difficult decision to make. Even though, technically, he would always be of the Shadow Tribe first. Ceridwyn had been at the forefront of the battle. And she had watched Remo die.
She opened her eyes to find Damian kneeling over her, eyes full of worry, “Are you alright?”
She laughed, then, suddenly aware of the bizarreness of the situation. “We have to stop doing this”, she whispered, leaning up into the familiar frame of his body. He swallowed, once, twice. “I understand”, he said, “But what am I supposed to do?”
She shook her head at him, despondent and unsettled, “I love you.”
He looked down at her cautiously, then swallowed again, “I have always loved you.”
“And that’s why you can’t stay”, she whispered, smiling up at him gently, even as her eyes sparkled with waylaid tears.
The baby wouldn’t stop wailing. She knew that it was Arianna’s son. Arianna, who had trusted her and helped them escape when the entire kingdom was against them. Arianna, who now lay buried not far from here, shot in the heart with a poisoned arrow, even as her husband fought on in the Outer Circle with the other Marine Corps. Arianna’s son was trapped inside the burning building, and his mother was injured, and there was no one around to help him. Cerid had already lost a lot of blood. But she could hear the shouts in the distance, and it was clear that victory was imminent. She was just steps away from the designated Tower. She’d get medical attention there, and probably be able to send someone for the baby.
But it would be too late.
And as she turned away from the tower and towards Arianna’s home, for some strange reason, she thought of Damian and the last thing he’d said to her.
Dead to me.
He stared at her for a moment, memorizing every detail of her face as she smiled at him encouragingly. “It’s going to be alright. I’m always going to be here, with you.”
“So,” he began, in a shaky voice, stopping to take a deep breath and continue, “What you’re saying is I’ll never be walking alone.”
She beamed at him then, and for just one tiny moment, Damian forgot all about the last night of the Quarter Century War, when he had returned to the village only to find her overwhelmed and outnumbered against Assassins intending to eliminate all the noble-born children.
He had joined in the battle, and afterwards held her blood soaked body in his arms, as the cheer of celebration and jubilation rang out all around them, and the last of her life ebbed away from her. “Forgive me” he had cried, but it had been too late, and the only answer he had was the silence of the blankness in her empty eyes, just as she had promised him.
Sudden darkness. The hill was empty now. A cold wind rustled past the nearby trees, and a whisper trembled at his ear.
“You’ll never walk alone.”
Damian fell to his knees.
The night had begun.
Know this, my tormentor
What is dead to you,
is dead to me.
Goodbye, farewell, my love
and to all, yes, all
that could have been.
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