Much is lost in times of peace
As shepherds shear their flocks for fleece,
As farmers tiller and toil their soil
And kitchens bubble with pots O' boil.
The ways of war are best not forgotten
For sooner or later the barons boot
Shall have trodden,
Upon that farmers land.
Arm in arm and hand in hand
With brigands and brutes In armored hides of tan.

Though the pastures now lay golden
Beholden to the setting sun.
Keep your scabbard close,
Blade keen not blunt.
For far beyond yon neglected walls
The winds are rising,
The ocean's tidal breath
Brings tidings of war.
This time it may devour us all.

They come now robed in mirrors
That are polished to a sheen,
Doused in smoke
And smeared with gasoline.
Each mirrored shard reflecting dreams
Of chances lost and what may have been.
Their own are nowhere to be found,
Veiled and hidden,
Safe and sound.
But,
Pry back those mirrored shards
And beware what you may see,
The forms of  frail men
Disfigured and diseased.
Their minds had long since set them free
From the warring of beasts
And the powers that be.
And,
Yet it holds them fast,
Mind tethered and lashed
As a sail rigged tight
And firm to mast.
At last!
Their mirrors stare back.
With all the veracity of history
The shame, the pride,
Whatever it is they lack.
Whatever it is they say they need.
They say they need,
And so then they believe.
No matter the hypocrisy...

I say they,
Perhaps I mean me.

What is wrong with us?
Maybe the question should be,
What is right with us?

I was thinking...
Potential is nothing
Until it is realised.

The Aces check their sleeves,
Hearts rippling across the breeze.
The Queen arises
Slowly,
Torn dress ripped at the knees.

The Jack saw his fill
And quickly took his leave.
Stood trembling in a doorway,
Mind struggling to believe...

The King was an alcoholic,
It was widely known to be so,
Each eve he would sit solemn,
Wine in hand and sword on show,
Clapping to the Jokers' japes
As he danced and sang
About love and fate.
But how was the King to know?
Not two rooms away
His wife had lain,
With a smile and a *****.
Creating a cuckold and a fool...

The Jack had had enough
And promptly marched
To the throne room.
Armed with only knowledge,
Unleashes inevitable typhoon.

The winds will rise,
This house shall succumb,
Imploding inwards
Till the house is done.
And all that remains
Among ash and decay,
Broken hearts and broken spades,
Is the Jokers last laugh.
A mockingbirds call as daylight fades.

We are mules,
Moving matter here and there,
While men in suits and pristine
Combed hair,
Wax shined shoes
And a plastic smile,
Say  "no, not here, there!"
Followed by some monotonous management bile:

"Yeah Ted, great squash game
Your blue sky thinking will pave the way!
Yeah bye..."

"Christ, that guys lame"

The office applauds and cements his fame,
While the mules keep ambling on,
Moving matter that doesn't matter
Until the last days light has shone.

Seven deadly sins, they say,
Those vicious voluptuous ways
We shall all share and spend our days
When the devil is at our door.
For I am guilty of six,
Perhaps more.
And if I plead as guilty
Than I wonder what you say?
"Oh none" said ever so sweetly
In the glowing piety of the day.
But what would we mutter
As the shadows come to play?
And light is but a memory
A silhouette in dark decay.

Would we lust for the last
Vestibules of light?
Would our greed lead us toward
Rage and pride?
Would we fight to the end
For that last bastion of light?
Treading over fallen fables,
All to escape the night?