POEMS

Gradually, quietly,
Father night descends;
Stars like distant sentries
Guard the travelling friends.

A sliver of moonlight
With wind against their back,
Peering through the dark,
So wary of attack.

The tall moody trees
Watch as they pass,
The white haired man first
The dark haired man last.

On tired steeds they ride
Bloodied hair, clothes and shield
Swords blunt and useless
Trophies from a battlefield.

The young man behind
Studied his older friend
Remembering the wounds
Doubting they would mend.

He smelt worn leather
And life from the wood
Heard the hoot of owls
While recalling boyhood;

Wondering how life turned
From child to fighter
Sounds of mother’s laughter
When days were brighter.

From brow of the hill
They saw a silver lake,
Trapped by ancient land,
A shimmering snake.

He knew what lay in wait
Down by the water’s edge;
Feeling the weeping scar
Whispering his sacred pledge.

Morning would bring with it
The promise of waking breath
But his heart was heavy
With darker thoughts of death.