[Incomplete Epic Poem]

     Part One


Dark hues overhead
Binding frostbite rising,
Feet drag beneath.
Hands clenched
From the bitter cold desert stretch.

Dark hues overhead scared him not,
Binding frostbite only scored his will
      to continue on.
Feet drag but legs fail him not,
Hands clench a promising hilt
      to rip away life.
Imbued darkness on twilight,
Revealing the glow on north to face
      mere stringent walls.


Never a man
Solicitous in intent,
Freshly drawn inside.
Hung out
With vultures on this desert stretch.

Never a man so sure than this to be,
Never to abandon that which he strives
      over encrusted terrains.
Freshly drawn and quartered are beliefs,
Hung out to die in the yawning abyss
      of their dreams.
Make of a man for whom truth eyes,
Maker of men for whose matchless guile
      is the call of the wild.


Stirring dust storms
Rising from the ground,
Choking breath down.
All goals laid out
Like an endless stretch of desert.

Stirring dust storms warn of lassitude,
The rising towers of the city ahead
      beg disbelief.
If all goals be forgotten,
May the mind then be lost in
      endless fascination.
But eyes filled with truth look forward,
The mind perceives that which anticipates
      death by blade.


Morning aglow
Where sunlight glances,
Sand heats the feet below.
A trodden path
Behind lies the endless stretch.

Morning aglow on the spires ahead,
Sunlight casts its glances on steps
      that grace sands between.
For sand is not a growing barrier,
But the trodden path of the dead
      reckoning of skeletons.
They lie in wait for a saviour,
But no Christ is he to forgive
      their appeasements.




     Part Two
​
Feet work over a bony stretch
Cracking ribs and skulls into the dust
      of forgotten pasts.
Gates rise up to resist encroachment,
Swords flare in the morning light
      of sentinel duty.
If all practice made perfect,
Then the death of sentinels be
      a touching reminder.


Morning encroaches within the city,
What the gates do not hold back
      revelations are to keep.
Here like meandering wardens,
Within these stringent walls walk
      embittered wills.
They in their daily task of subsistence,
Marauding maunders draining from life
      it's blood and soul.


He himself a shadow pique,
Disturbing the grounds of shallow hope
      where denouement waits.
Littered with thieves and queens,
Creeping among the stalls he gropes
      molesting fate.
A blood filled dream of vengeance
To replace the burning thought
      of patricide.


He passes by in remote leisure,
Wonders of the vision distracting
      from the desired course.
He juxtaposes the craving with need,
And a sense of unfulfilment from a
      lesser Stately greed.
Hands unclench and now reach out,
Taking from the stalls their fruits
      of other men’s labours.


He plays in the gardens where lovers lie,
Dodging questions that persist
      in fair maidens’ eyes.
Masked by his own enduring quest,
He satiates this distant cry that
      meditates in his mind.
It remains to be seen what will lead astray
Such is a driven man that he rises to excuse
      his mannerly conduct.


Forth must he go to face a cause,
Strengthening each moment in its
      growing requirements.
Separated from their world of games,
Partied with pleasure and songs that
      serenade the night.
He sets off now in search of the courts
Where all news of his arrival will set
      this day into motion.




     Part Three


A creeping man he stalks the walls,
Secretly his blade slips into the folding
      bones of garments.
Where blood flows and drains life,
He leaves with a new desire satiated
      in it’s deathly grip.
Vengeance welcomes this day
That allows regicide to
      burn with pride.


Steps lead to chambers of maidens,
Their fear of ends ruling over
      a King’s betrayal.
Steps lead to chambers of shadows,
Fear of exposure in their nightly whims
      of apostasy.
Steps lead further still to chambers
Amongst the people of this empery,
      where delightful fear
Saves their skin hides so bare.
In delight now turned to fear
      for their duty.



. . .
[Extra Verses]



Matriarchal betrayal
From the fear in their eyes .


He cries upon the sand as he kneels,
Shallowed vengeance a mocking call
      that buries his needs.



Blood is on his hands crusting in the drying sun
He falls to the ground a fool amongst skeletons
For the desire to kill in the name of vengeance
Has drawn away the will and claimed penitence.

• 2003, Invercargill