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Dark Sky

The sky this morn is black with crows,

The rising sun an angry rose

Casts blood in petals on the land.

And I sing, to remember all I was

In another age, in another time,

Beneath a sweeter, brighter sky

When all the world was you and I.

 

White horses walked in sylvan glades

In days when knights could honour maids

And seek their favours in return.

And nought I sought in recompense

But ever fought in your defence

Long after honour was all gone

And long before I lost the dawn.

 

The twilight now, in softened hue

Fades all my memories of you.

Evening mist now veils your face

Treasured thoughts of so long ago

Will soon lie cold beneath the snow

In shelter from the wind’s embrace

To be awakened never more.

 

Night clouds gather, my day is past

I will take you to my bed at last

That part of you forever young

Though undefined within my heart

Shall be the verse of my last song.

And when I lose my final fight

Your wraith will guide me into night.

 

© Frederick Anderson 2016.  All rights reserved.  Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from the author is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Frederick Anderson with specific direction to the original content.

 

Christian?

12a

I have never known whether or not I could write poetry, so this category may remain impoverished, or short-lived, if my followers are honest in their opinion. But there are times when verse seems to help express a need. This is one such time:

Christian

Christian, where were you in the sun time
When our feet tramped hard on beaten clay?
Where were you when the militia came
To sweep our land of the planted seed
And take our hopes away?

Where were you in those squalid aisles
Of spoil and waste that seeped with death
Between the tents and junkyard piles
You forced us to reside beneath?
Did you weep as you passed by?

Where were you when the trader came
To knock upon our rusted door?
Our daughter’s price – two bags of rice,
And though we will never see her more,
Do you know the man he sold her to?

Where were you when the warlord spoke
With the lead you sold him from the guns
You gave in the name of foreign aid?
Or when cholera took my wife and sons
And laid them in a nameless grave?

Were you in your church then, praying on those contrite knees?
Thanking God for giving you your life of Christian ease?
Or were you at your keyboard posting your donation
Your ten percent of pittance, of holy absolution,
Making your down payment on real estate in heaven:
Is that where you were?

To you I know I am nothing more
Than some problem on a distant shore.
You care not for my extremity
As I, bereft of all once dear to me,
Seek my fortune in some leaking boat
And a last dream. At least, it matters not –
Until that boat, that dream survives the ocean’s roar
And brings me, penniless supplicant, to your door.

Then, true and loving Christian man – where will you be?