Wretched are the drums, those that beat,
Unending till the war is won, the life has ended.
The drums that beat through rage and lust,
Love and sorrow.
Onwards, it pushes
the red-clad army through an endless maze;
Twisting,
Turning,
Winding,
Grinding,
Pushing and
Charging till the end.
Where the wind stops blowing,
And the feet cease marching.
Where a darkness encroaches and embraces;
Though within it, there is peace.
Where sorrows cannot dwell.
No mirth or reverence reside.
Hearken to the drums beat!
Yet be wary, oh lustful wanderer.
For if one gets lost within the
Rapture and gets carried away by the maddening rhythm,
There is no redemption.
For within the sweet whisperings of a lover’s touch
And bright warmth of joy and ecstatic virtue,
Therein lies a rancid truth;
A dissonant chord to end a sweet melody,
The breaking of the red-clad army over blade and rock.
For all good things must come to an end.
The warmth of a lover’s embrace becomes cold,
The sweet words and honey turn to ichor and malice.
Summer turns to winter and the icy chill sets in.
Dragon’s fire tears it’s way out of a ruptured heart,
Scorn and malice burning in its wake.
Once fertile, green fields and lush woodlands,
Now a forlorn and deserted battlefield,
Muddied and scorched.
Bitter are all ends, and the grief and pain.
The mourner’s wail and the deafening silence weighted with pains and sorrows.
Though hearken to my words, weary soldier, and hearken well;
Not all ends are all ends,
For below the scarred surface of warfare,
The earth is fertile yet, though the wounds deep and long.
The pulsing drums within have never ceased.
On and on do they beat, and the heat burns on,
Low and deep, pulsing with life.
Lay low your arms,
Lift your face to the sun, and
Behold the growth of young blossoms pushing through the mud and ichor.
For with a gentle hand, can it be nurtured
And restore life to a once devastated war zone.
Not all battles can be won with sword and shield, beloved warrior.
For some must be fought with kindness and love.
Let not your fields and woods become barren and lifeless with loss of what was.
Nurture instead a new seed,
And radiant blooms shall burst forth
And sing a rhapsody of many hearts of past and future into one present,
Poured through and into you.
Let yourself be a vessel for love unending and unconditional,
Of love known in the past and yet unknown love to be discovered.
For if one dwells in the dark,
One shall never know the light.
And if thou seek it and cannot find it, search within.
For it has been with thee since the beginning and was not lost,
For love is a battle that cannot be lost or won.
It is, and shall be left to be.
One has not lost love, no.
For even in the harshest winter, when all seems lost,
The earth still lives, warm and her heart beating on and on.
Look within, dearly beloved warrior and wanderer.
You have not lost, your battle is not over.
~Thangtan Glimmerbeard.
((scribbled in the margin of the page in red ink.))
Author's note: Dearest reader, these ramblings of a romantic poet are of loves come and gone and lost, musings and thoughts of current situations and wounds of the soul brought to light. This writing is merely my heart poured onto the page. Even now, as I write these final words, does my heart feel ever lighter as I cast off the chains that once held me down and quenched the dragon fire that burned in my wretched heart.
Heed my words, beloved reader; These woes are not forever, your grief may feel like it lasts an eternity. You will keep burning, the longer you hold the burning steel. Cast it aside, soothe your hurts and wounds... The burden is heavier the longer you bear it.
