The Darker Side of you
The night is misty,
Every light burnt out,
Thy ambiance in gloom standeth unfrail and stout,
‘tis the shadows of secrets, of unfulfilled vows,
Of lies, of deceit, and of questions and doubts;
Yet why art thou blissful o’ warrior?
What maketh thee rejoice?
Stand I at thy doorstep, knowing thou hath no
choice;
Let me in o’ warrior, and I shall lend thee my aid,
Kingdom after kingdom, for thy victory, I shall
raid;
Open thy door now o’ warrior and thou shan’t
repent,
I shall make the world bleed till thou
breathe in content;
I am waiting . . .
Riddled with memos of honor and peace was thy word
and thy thought,
Set in the path of the righteous and the good, was
thy soul and thy heart,
‘Pursue what truth is’ was thine humble oath and
thine simple pledge,
And for truth what earth and sea did thee not seek
or dredge?
To make an owned mark, was thine selfless wish,
thine modest desire,
To carve your own boat, to scorch your own fire;
What err doth thee o’ warrior?
Why the world mocketh thine vision?
What mirth find they in thine thought of kind,
nonviolent submission?
Yet why art thou blissful o’ warrior?
I am waiting . . .
The world is unkind; the world is unfair,
‘Thou shan’t surpass me’, her tyranny and egotism
declare,
On brotherhood, on kinship on family and love
speaketh her disciples,
Seldom at their swarmed gatherings, in licentious
meetings,
Lustful assemblies bustling with self centric
cackles;
‘Right is us’ and ‘Wrong is the paltry rest’
shouteth from the dais that hollow voice,
Men and women, necks filled to the brim with
pride, blithely rejoice,
The entire herd breaketh in applaud, making noise.
Foolish, inane creatures of Sin they be, my
Sire,
Bingeing and savoring on the fear, the dread upon
unspoken minority that their acts inspire;
Why do thee care for them o’ great warrior?
What hath their misdeeds shown towards thy nature
but ingratitude?
Yet why art thou blissful o’ warrior?
What maketh thee rejoice?
I am waiting . . .
Off my dark haired stead I’ve slid onto thy soft,
moist ground,
I’ve seated myself at thine doorway, hearing
closely, waiting for a voice or sound,
Hairy knuckles dressed in metal glove, I knock on
thy door;
As thinketh thee of evil towards thine selfish
kith and kin, and many more;
My blade shimmers from between these red blotches,
A silent testimony to my victory in many a blood
bath and death matches;
Shaketh the rusty axe hanging safely
within my shield, on my belt,
As thine faith in good departs from where until
now it had dwelt.
The armour hiding my burnt skin and flesh ist at
thy service, my Sire,
It shall withstand more blood and gore, more metal
and fire.
To those who oppose thee there shall be instant
death,
I shall make them kneel for thee, a kingship they
shall upon you bequeath.
Yet why art thou blissful o’ warrior?
What maketh thee rejoice?
Stand I at thy doorstep, knowing thou hath no
choice;
I am still waiting . . .
PS:
It is at the darkest hour that men must keep their faith in good. Evil sounds
enticingly rewarding, but only for this moment.
4 comments:
your poem is really awesome,mr.anonymous.It has a very deep hidden meaning in it.I really like your way of expressing your thoughts.Waiting for such more things.........
Thy poetry ist awesome.
This is good, but comes across as a tad pretentious. I suppose these are early works of Anon-i-muss and there are better things to follow. The use of old language was a little overwrought, as were the metaphors. Yes, the underlying meaning is well-expressed, it's just that poetry is such an abused medium that I'm inclined to dislike stuff unless proven otherwise.
A bit long for my taste, otherwise I felt nice reading it. Was dumb enough not to understand it, but your post script helped in deciphering. It reminded me of Dante's poems. The lines in Italic were really good.
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