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Into the Storm
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Dolour As the hands of the artist falls idle,
while the hands of the poet twitch,
the tears are bleeding wounds,
where the heart once was.
The knight broken,
the hero fallen,
the wulf rising,
and all together I fall.
Kissing your lips good bye,
feeling the man I was with you fade.
In mystery I remain.
A mystery not unfolding for my blind eyes.
While the night invades,
the knight remains shattered,
the hero dying,
and the wulf regins.
In the mess, I fall into the storm.
In hopes to recover the balance I once had.
As the hands of the artist idles,
while the hands of the poet fidgets,
all that remains is the primal beast.
The knowledge of surviving and adepting.
No longer see as the heroic knight.
No longer breathing as the mystic man
known to be knightly and saint like.
Just the animal wearing an ugly man suit.
No upsetting the reality, this world likes as it is.
Do not disturb.
I leave all the pieces behind as I march
into the storm hovering over the Highway.
