The time

Was opportune.

My members all had mutinied,

Gone traitorous,

Withdrawn

Their mandate from the will,

And the will stood,

A lonely sentinel,

Afraid.

 

Behind my eyes

The minds limbs had grown gaunt,

Gnarled,

Defoliate.

And through all

The Simmoom of a desiccating want

Ceaselessly parched.

 

She

Was a cry to combat.

Eyes

Shafting javelins,

Shoulder sabre-slashing,

In her voice

A provocation of hostile guns

 

I,

Being flint and tinder,

Flashed into fire,

Rallied

To a rouse of bugles through the blood,

Attained

A sudden unity of intent

And attacked.

 

The conflict

Was un-concluded.

For although

I claimed the spoils of victory,

Her eyes reminded me

That I remained

An un-admitted alien.

 

And so we lay

In the final hour of the dark

Each one from the other

Isolate,

While ourselves

Warily in the no man`s land between

Made parley.

 

Until,

Tired of pretence,

She slipped with one sad utterance the mask.

And her eyes broke

And spilled their pity on her breasts.

 

Losing

All inclination for the fray,

I stood my forces down,

Disbanded them,

And coming close,

Surrendered.

 

(Through Her sleep

She smiled a weary smile of victory)

 

And then the grave young Day

Crept in

And stood beside us,

And the courteous Dawn-wind

Hushed his breath a little,

And the birds -

For fear of awakening us -

Slept on,

And the sun rose…on a morning full of peace.