Banned Weapons according to the Conventions of Warfare

Such solemn rules exist in warfare now,

Conventions to which combatants all swear,

My strong defence begins to break and bow,

I feel the hangman's noose of raven hair,

And taste the heartbeat dancing on my lips,

You touch my wrist with crackling fingertips.

-

Conventions t0 which combatants all swear,

Are tossed aside as you walk through the gloom,

My eyes draw to the deadly smile you wear,

White phosphorous that sears those in the room.

Your napalm legs ignite a village fire,

Your eyes ensnare with glinting razor wire.

-

My strong defence begins to break and bow,

As closer you advance so I can hear,

I feel a landmine blast across my brow,

As phosgene whispers seep into my ear.

Your cheek upon my stubble beckons in,

Nerve-agent chills that dance across my skin.

-

I sense the hangman's noose of raven hair

Entwine around my throat, the soldier caught,

And offer up a simple, wordless prayer,

Your perfume kicks the stool and rope pulls taut.

This prisoner of war is now enslaved,

And cursed by love and never to be saved.

-

You touch my wrist with crackling fingertips,

That pull me to the shadows from the din,

and war-crime smiling at Your easy win,

You, Morrígan, lean forth with victor's grin,

And taste the heartbeat dancing on my lips.

---------

This is written in the form of 'Tríocha 's'a Cuig' (Tríocha agus a cúig - 'Thirty and Five') which I've developed as a slightly more 'dangerous' alternative to Ciardi's Trenta-Sei. CD