A west wind blows from its homeland,
To fly into the distance,
to carry with it a starry ship,
air billowed in the silver sails.
By Isaac Marshallabout a year ago in Poets
Impossible is not, when everyone has tried,
And everyone has failed.
Not when men have died,
And not when men have ailed.
What happened to that fluttery twinkle in a starry eye?
When did the eye’s fire die?
What happened to sincere faces or light toed graces?
Battle begins, intentions barbaric,
ready in mail-shirt, hatred as helm.
As arrows rise, the army attacks.
Each side fights fatefully, vengeance as goal.