Voices of BattleOnward!
Pressing forward in every way
Our hearts desire - or don't desire - to move.
Moving, swaying, dancing as
One body, one mind, one purpose.
It is He who we follow
In spite of who we are, who we claim to be.
His is the battle plan.
His is the armor. His is the order.
The cry is weak, unheard
For it was not the Shepherd's voice.
A few follow, deceived - their backs
To the closest enemy.
The cry was heard over
The clang of metal, the claxon of weapons.
Those tricked struggle, hit the ground hard.
A roar echoes through the valley.
This time the cry reverberates
Through the enemy ranks.
They stumble back, blinded and fearful
As they come face to face with Ferocity.
The wounded huddle, in the protective custody
Of those who still stand whole.
This side of the valley falls silent, watching
As Holy Rage charges - alone.
It was not by their strength
That parts of the enemy lay scattered over the ground.
Their Victor stood
Sticky Kitchen TilesA cockroach stares at me
from halfway down the counter,
flat black eyes saying,
"Yeah, you're bigger than me.
Grab the pot."
What he doesn't know is
I'm terrified of things with wings,
I don't take dares from insects,
and my pots are in the cupboard
right below his spindly legs.
I could grab the meat cleaver
and start swinging.
It's too bad I'm so fond
of blue kitchen tiles
and marbled counters.
live for months without their heads,