A weapon is poised,
ready to strike
to attack
to defend the barren wasteland, smoothest ocean,
the depth of space, or a hopeless home.
It shifts,
a twitch,
a sign of life?
No, wait, it stills. No threat has arrived,
it doesn't yet need to defend honour, expect against one;
It's called "the Destroyer"
"The Eraser,"
hell bent
on smiting all traces of joy – white-knight façade,
it chases the night from the spotless day.
The yellow-black
of dawn
doesn't wait,
welcoming the night's escape, warriors duplicate and wait
for the right time, the message, cue, feeling
like ice,
a pinprick,
a desperate, passionate
love, when moment strikes, as the new sun rises,
stabbing scratches, a cry victorious;
a word is written.
The war is won.
-
This I wrote while procrastinating Hamlet revision, I showed my English teacher and he didn't even mind the lack of notes! It's probably only the 3rd or 4th draft, but I had such a flash of inspiration in the quote that I just bashed out an almost finished product in about 10 minutes flat. I hope you like it!
YOU ARE READING
Arrow's Anthology
PoesíaJust a small collection of poems or short stories I've written over the years. Enjoy :)
