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Hadrian Veska Jan 2022
Do I love?
Or do I do these things
Because I feel I must?

The bare minimum
Or at least not as much
As I know I'm capable of

Do I really try?
Or does real love
Even need to try at all?

I've learned myself
That it is a conscious effort
Not just a feeling or emotion

It is a mindset
To sacrifice for others
To put them above myself

Even if I have needs
Or wants of my own
There is no higher love

Than to lay down one's life for another
Hadrian Veska Jan 2022
It was a long journey home
From the great Eastern front
My sword in its sheath
And shield on my back
Senseless death In a land not our own
Now I return as a shell of myself
The faces of dead men
Hide behind my eyelids
I trudge through unfamiliar streets
Changed by the long decade past
I find it stranger than the far land
I was now returning from
All the great temples
Have been torn down
The God I worshiped
No where to be seen
Brothels and markets
Now stand in places of worship
They tell me the temple
At Anol Mihn yet stands
So I set out for it
Up into the great hills
I take my time on the trek
Unsure of many things
That I used to hold dear,
That I trusted as absolute
The stone path is worn
Overgrown and treacherous
Yet after three days' journey
I arrived at my destination

The temple stood in disrepair
The doors stripped from it
Light shining through holes
And cracks in the high ceiling
I came and bowed to my knees
Before the imposing statue
Of my now forgotten God
Maybe for minutes
Or perhaps long hours
I sat before it
Thinking, praying
If one could call it such
Seeking the one
Who my people had forgotten
Questioning all I had done
And if it was enough
Where I could call home
Now that my home has abandoned
All I once held dear
Yet the statue before me
Sat deafeningly silent

The light shifted slowly
Imperceptibly the pure light
Became gilded rays
As the evening sun sank
Illuminating the thick dust
Hanging weighlessly in the air
I stood up as the light faded
And stepped out side
The twilight had come
And with it I journeyed
Further into the hills
Until I found a grassy place
To rest my weary body
As well as my weary soul
The stars became visible
As I sat down I turned my gaze
To the endless heavens above
I laid my pack beside me
Then laid myself down
In soft untouched grass
Gripped between my fingers
Then closed my eyes

Praying my God may come
In but a whisper
To tell me what to do
To show me the way I just go
And what to do now
That everything I know
Has fallen apart
I cried, and waiting
Spoke and prayed
Yet no answer came
Not in all the long hours of night
I laid there in the hills

Before the morning came I arose
I heard the birds in the bushes and trees
I saw the grass blow in the breeze
I felt the sun bring warmth to my cheeks
And I stood up to survey the earth
To witness if I had any worth
For a moment I stood and then I heard
A voice my own yet not my word
From deep within an answer came
Not from one I knew and not the same
As the God whom I claimed to believe
But He spoke and said He is in me
Not just in stone, temple or heart
But in all those his righteous art
Who seek the truth, peace and love
To them he comes light as a dove
And rests on them and dwells within
Freeing them from bonds of sin
That they may live and live a new
The Creator God who dwells in you
Hadrian Veska Jan 2022
Washed moss stone
Guarding turtle shell shores
Down the dirt road
You'll find the giant snores

A small stone house
With thin plumes of smoke
Beasts of burden sleep
Laid beside their yoke

The skies hang low
A dull and overcast Grey
A moment ago I left
Now wishing I had stayed

But I know within myself
That the way I chose is right
That in time the sun will rise
And bring it's brilliant light

For now the rain comes
If only but a shower
Through it I'll go on
Though I lack the power

To make it to that place
Solely on my own
The ideal in my own mind
That fateful seed I've sown

Yet the world about remains
And rests from it's great work
So I in turn will rest
In the belly of the earth
Hadrian Veska Dec 2021
Touched
Once to the head
Twice
Lightning to my spirit
A false visitation
Hadrian Veska Dec 2021
A bandage worn on the left eye
A flock on birds travel back the sky
The weather comes but never nigh
Unto such a place unknown

He would leave if he were able
Past the stone grave and table
From this land grey and sable
But he fears that he may forget

For none now left do remember
The calm and cool of September
Those memories are scare an ember
Within even his own mind

The sun now there grows ever dim
It’s royal colors stretched and slim
Though none remain who remember him
He will himself recall

His home before the fall
Hadrian Veska Oct 2021
The great pines stand
Laden with heavy snow
Waters flow unseen
Hidden below thick sheets of ice
I caught a glimpse of her once
Or at least I believe I did
That woman long golden hair
Who walks barefoot in the snow
Signing her odd melodies
I have heard nothing like it
In all my many years
Oft I sit at the end of the woods
By the wide river bank
Hoping to hear her
Somewhere off in the distance
On but two occasions in my life
Were my ears so lucky
To be graced by her voice
I was in awe of her
And yet I was fearful
For I know she was not one of us
The old stories say she came from heaven
From a place above the sky
I do not pretend to know
Nor do I care, I simply wish
To catch a glimpse of her again
To lock with her peircing blue eyes
Brighter and fresher
Than a spring time stream
To witness her one last time
And to hear her song in full
A faint Aria in the snow
Hadrian Veska Oct 2021
The clock struck a peculiar time
Reverberating on the window pains
When I looked up from the old wooden desk
To the stark white face of that piece  
My eyes were caught in a haze
The hands of the clock eluded me
The chair scratched against the floor
As I moved backwards and rubbed my eyes
My ears popped ever so slightly
Light headedness came on to me
I found it and remained conscious
Aware of what would occur should I fall,
Succumbing to that mechanism
I mustered myself to remove the clock
Lifting it from a single nail in the wall
I placed in in the top drawer of the desk
It's ticking was no longer audible
Yet I still felt the reverberation
It bounced and rattled within my bones
A pulsing echo within my mind
Never louder yet with each throb
It grew more and more distinct

Then it stopped altogether
And the shadows grew long in the room
I paned out the old attic space
For the breifest moment
Before the shadows evaporated
Blending and mixing with the darkness
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