The Grail You Seek

B-atchley
B-atchley
Jul 28, 2017 · 2 min read

When bonds of men seemed iron strong,

Forever young such foolish wrong.

Fickle fate strung them along,

1000 lonely birds in song,

Yearning barks from a restless dog.

On passing whimsies, frantic fads,

Squandering, spent the time we had.

The tales now told were always there,

Of tragic loss and absent stares,

Homeric humankind laid bare.

Yet stay, ignore the call of western winds,

Ignore the call of daylight’s end,

Ignore the call of fallen friends.

Those winds that blew and made you ill,

High time to pay the Butcher’s bill.

The wolves dispatched from Orcus’ gate

Collect my friends who stay too late.

I’ve no knowledge of the other sides:

Water walking virgin brides,

Puppet prophet water slides,

Astral karma forms collide,

Buddha spirited, rainbow skied,

Laws of physics strict applied,

By chosen path, man must abide.

Fields of blackened burning bones,

and mortar rounds, sticks and stones.

Skulls leering in a frozen grin,

While rigor mortis settled in.

Smoke-filled rooms with seizing chests,

Rapist ravaged sweaty breasts.

In blood-soaked satin Christmas dress.

Gun powder stains in Wild Wests.

Man’s wicked way may find no rest.

I’ve seen the fear behind men’s eyes,

Accepting fates they’d once denied,

The fool who wished for time to buy.

My friend I see your shaking hands,

Your good deeds drawn in castle sand.

This was not the path you sought,

Boots pulled up and iron will wrought.

But merciful and loving blessed,

Dried flowers you painstaking pressed.

The scattered limbs of wicked weak,

Hot tears that burned the ruddy cheeks,

Abruptly end the grail you seek,

Aloft you held your sword and shield,

Felt fresh cut wounds that never healed.

Silent ate your moldy meal,

Silent seconds you’d now steal.

Blistered hands suppliant held,

These are just the hands we’re dealt.

I ached to save the suffering king,

Whose words still hung in silly strings,

His woven mail in rusty rings.

My words lacked mercy, and painful sting,

I wished to save the suffering king.

Poets Unlimited

Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

B-atchley

Written by

B-atchley

mad scientist, teacher, doctor, writerish, raging star wars and comics habit

Poets Unlimited

Six Years of poetry-only publishing, PoetsUnlimited was a diverse, engaging and authentic poetry magazine. For most of that time a daily publication, it was always diverse and original, and free-to-read by all.

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