Devastation Personified
For those that buck the system
It’s a new year, a new dawn, a new day,
And he rises from his slumber knowing it’s time to be on his way,
He surveys the valley of the dead and forlorn,
Intrepid desire affirming that it was not where he was born.
**
He adorns his serpent skin leather pants,
All the while offering his morning prayer, in a whisper he chants,
And sits on a fallen log to lace up his dragon scale boots,
Playing on his mind today is the region of his roots.
**
His steel forged sword is worn upon his back,
In a sheath of ox heart instilled suede silken pack,
His long hair is tied back with a unicorn whisker,
It’s characteristic recognisable on this handsome drifter.
**
His steed of such height he can reach the sky,
Gaining a vantage point by being up incredibly high,
His vision enhanced by a mythical portion simmered from moonlight,
Ingested the morning after, and mixed with the darkness of night.
**
He sets his intention, those that collide with his name,
He’ll happily behead them if it’s all the same,
He spends his days wandering the outback of the void,
Looking and slaughtering those that have banded and deployed.
**
Off in the distance he spies a funnel of dark smoke,
That’ll be the outcast of which he just spoke,
Digging heels into horseflesh, he takes off at speed,
Using nothing more than strong knees in which to lead.
**
He ranges mountains and animal trails to move near,
Warding his mind, gaining clarity into the man they’ll fear,
He soldiers into a realm of war and turmoil,
With such speed and surprise that his enemy recoil.
**
It turns out that it’s a solo prey at rest,
Leisurely relaxing in his sordid nest,
One swoop of his sword puts deed to that crook,
His death in payment of the crime he recently partook.
Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.
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Originally published on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (3)
I think I've met this guy before--& I'm pretty sure my demise was every bit as uneventful.
Oh wowwww, he's soooo dreamy! I want a guy like him. Heheheheheh 😍🙈
Wonderfully written!!! Loved the ending!!!💕❤️❤️