Proelium

The soul quivers, fist clenched on sword hilt
In the solitude of the heart, seeking calm,
Clarity, a way beyond the dark
In dying summer the ashes burn
Reflections on a stream that thirsts
For life, for hope
Lances raised, the charge is called
The legion sets forth, the heart, does not
A longing, remembrance of vibrant fields
The Soul yearns, trapped within mail
The rose withers as it blossoms
Bleeding crimson from its orifices
On a knife's edge, we make our peace with
the wind, captivator of spirits
And there is no shade in the freezing heat
No cold, in fading anthropy
Memory, the ravisher of tomorrows
Fates long sealed, in jest we battle
The mind shatters itself on dastardly metal