Battlecry
Author: Ark
Times like these hang
surreptitious in the air:
wraiths bitter
at the Earth-chilling sun
or the fireball moon
traitor to its matrimonial bond –
as the soul itself returns to dust,
a memory waiting for the wind
to stir it to life
once again.
In times like these,
.sometimes.
even poets
must draw
the sword.
