Pendragon
08-12-2007, 11:40 AM
Battle Scarred
Pausing to think—
(I have been here before, right?)
Sights and sounds overpowering,
Attack the five outer gates—
Sight, Hearing, Smell, Taste, Touch—
So I begin to envision what isn’t there;
To hear soft voices whispering blasphemy;
I gag on the taste of something very like blood;
The scent of death and decay fouls the air;
My skin twists in every direction from thorns I cannot see.
As I reel from emotional onslaught;
I will not accept nor give quarter,
But I must strategically withdraw
Behind the inner five gates.
Imagination, Conscience, Reason, Affection, Memory—
But this demonic force that breaks in,
Causes imagination to wander strange pathways;
Plays chess with my conscience and checks every move;
Backs reason to the wall as they joust with pointed words;
Trains affection in worldly wise ways it was not meant to know;
And causes my closest friend, memory, to become an illusionist.
Then he turns his cold eyes on the one thing he shall never possess:
For you see, behind five outer gates, and five within,
There stands a tower with no apparent door.
Within resides my soul…
The Dark Lord may do as he may with this flesh,
But my tower bears the mark and glyphs of The One
He dares not to anger—
He shall never have my soul…
Dale Harris
© 8/12/07
Pausing to think—
(I have been here before, right?)
Sights and sounds overpowering,
Attack the five outer gates—
Sight, Hearing, Smell, Taste, Touch—
So I begin to envision what isn’t there;
To hear soft voices whispering blasphemy;
I gag on the taste of something very like blood;
The scent of death and decay fouls the air;
My skin twists in every direction from thorns I cannot see.
As I reel from emotional onslaught;
I will not accept nor give quarter,
But I must strategically withdraw
Behind the inner five gates.
Imagination, Conscience, Reason, Affection, Memory—
But this demonic force that breaks in,
Causes imagination to wander strange pathways;
Plays chess with my conscience and checks every move;
Backs reason to the wall as they joust with pointed words;
Trains affection in worldly wise ways it was not meant to know;
And causes my closest friend, memory, to become an illusionist.
Then he turns his cold eyes on the one thing he shall never possess:
For you see, behind five outer gates, and five within,
There stands a tower with no apparent door.
Within resides my soul…
The Dark Lord may do as he may with this flesh,
But my tower bears the mark and glyphs of The One
He dares not to anger—
He shall never have my soul…
Dale Harris
© 8/12/07