A poem about the equilibrium between family, love and loss , an emotional conflict rather than a physical one.
For Love one sacrifices all sanity and rational thought.
For Love one discards life and death, everlasting, save for nought.
What is this that I have found?
If not my charge upon the ground
Upon this I cannot wait
On my honour, my love rebate
If my wit be sharp not round
Then on my word, for I am bound
To tales of old or tales of djinn
Find my posture stone herein
You speak of peace, with piece of mind
Words followed closely, thought behind
For to retract those words once said
Is to declare that piece be dead
A rapid spittle of words unspoken
In faith we hold silence unbroken
Conduit of earthly desire
When burns the truth it burns in fire.
Through eyes and mouth feelings exchanged
Through such means, our souls unchained
In vain, we cry as shackles tore
For love, for life, a senseless war
Fought not on roads nor havens reside
But among the caverns of our minds
Oh monarch of a barren land
I think on how thy forced my hand
With sorrow not residual hate
Of thirty pieces, I have but eight
The present’s but remnants of past
Where feelings are lost, but we held fast
He who wields creation in hand
Is but as feeble as we were grand
In times of sorrow or of Strife
Our beating heart, to this our Life
And when nature has sung its song
For what was lost, in rites, our wrongs