She has drifted on in
Invading your dreams
Or you hers
As you have both
Since you were young
Images and thoughts colliding
A closeness of souls
Which is hard to tell apart
Finding that she is you
And you are her
Yet also neither is true
Terrifying notions all
And the most frightening
Is that you drifted on in

The appeal is in what I lack.
Her hardness, her coldness,
That fierce lack of care,
Brashly charging in
And tearing apart to aid.
All which I look to
Saying with awe, “Now that’s strength,”
While ignoring my own,
Because the appeal is that which I lack.

Duties mustn’t be shirked
No matter how small.
The mundane in particular
Which keep us afloat
But which are so taxing.
So many numbers!
Dates, grades, bills and more
Which pull us all down.
Life without it seems pointless,
Yet I wish it weren’t so fatal
To shirk one’s duties.

Dream poems are frustrating.
Lines upon lines
Of fuzzy half remembered words
Shared between you
And the gods.
Perhaps they are goadings
More than poems.
Infuriating reminders to work.
Perhaps they are works themselves
Speaking great truths.
Tantalizing windows into reality.
I hate dream poems either way.

We look to the past
Overfondly and with joy
Praising things we now fault.
But was it ever so good?
We turn back to the past
Shocked and upset
Finding only flaws we once ignored
Marring what once was good.
Perhaps we shouldn’t look back.

The pleasant ache
Of flesh exerted
Tightness and lightness
With slight burning
Lingering for hours
Sometimes even days
Unique from injury
And from tiredness
That pleasant ache

She was met on the battlefield,
The blood soaked streets
Of some Outer Rim world
At war with itself.

Tall, dour, resolute,
Wholly dedicated to the cause.
For clan loyalties and him,
If not for her own joy.

You were there,
An outsider with a job.
A name and a face to claim,
To buy your meals with blood.

His name was the one,
The leader of her clan,
Cruel man and a revolutionary.
Neither mattered to you.

There were too many,
Too many like her.
Scattered family
Clinging to hope and life.

You shot it down
Quite literally
And she raged,
The most of them all.


The job done you could’ve left,
Callously jumping offworld
With a body bagged
And credits to claim.

You left lives in disarray though,
Throwing more fuel in the fire,
Stoking even greater hates
And revealing dark plots.

A warrior’s name was tarnished
By the truth
And a bolt to the brain,
Courtesy of you.

Strained ties led to mutiny,
Murderously so against her
Who was always faithful,
Right to the very end.

Her life was bought by your hand
Just as it was ended by it,
And she loathed you for this.
Rightly so, you think.

You bought another’s too,
A few lives in fact,
And for that she thanked you.
For that, you stayed.

Part of a war
Which was never yours
You fulfilled your obligation,
Your debt to her.

Still she hated you
As you stood in the field
Scorched and hopeless,
So many you saved dead.

The battle was won
But at the cost of clan ties.
The hardliners never approved of her,
But she craved their trust.

Foreigner or not wasn’t a concern
Not to you,
Nor should it have to them.
That’s just tradition.

So you extended a hand,
A place to stay,
The only recompense you had to give,
And a cold comfort at that.

But she took it,
Not calling you sister just yet.
Where else had she to run?
She, the outcast, soulless and hated.

That was the fate of the faithful
Who kept to him truly.
For he was a chief no longer,
Just a villain in a blood war.

It was your fate too,
The destroyer of all,
Family ties and lives,
To pick her back up.