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Samuel Nov 2017
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
Samuel Nov 2017
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.
Samuel Nov 2017
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.
Samuel Nov 2017
What is honor really?
There are Six Acts
Neatly laid out
And clear as day,
But what is life really?

He ran away,
Tossing his soul to the floor
To take up their mantle.
The Jedi’s,
But not lightly.

You were thrown
In a rage,
Neck almost snapped.
A shock,
But not unprovoked.

What is honor really?
Is it the Third Act?
To protect family,
Or maybe the Fifth
Of clan wellbeing?

You stayed behind
Rejecting the Order outright
To maintain the Lessons.
Your father’s,
And so resolutely.

He was shot.
Your father ran out
To cover a mistake.
And so fatal.

What is honor really?
Is it the First Act?
Taking up arms
And living martially,
Mistakes or no?

You say it is him,
Your soulless brother
Wearing armor of his own.
He says it is you,
The soul-filled sister
Carrying all her guilt.
Samuel Nov 2017
A contract was made
And had to be fulfilled.
Just a limited term
No more than a test.
A “perhaps” was given,
And a firm “no children now”
Which set the nerves at ease.

They rise up now,
Tingling, clawing, burning,
All over a dinner.
It is just a meal,
Simple, short.
Pretty little dishes
Just like pretty little words.
Yet there are the nerves rising.

A cup is held
But not yet drank from.
She asks of this,
Provides loving assurances
And gives a laugh too.
“It’s just wine, silly.”
Yes, just wine, and no more.
So a sip is taken,
Then more still
And with the wine
The nerves are drowned.

The death is gradual
Slow and almost imperceptible,
A pleasant buzzing numbness
Building up overagreeably.
The guard, normally so zealous,
Lays broken and torn down.
The nerves are not missed.

She is far too close,
With a voice far too sweet.
The words aren’t parsed
But they captivate wholly,
And the gentle touches too
Cloying, confusing
Edging the affair on
Far past the simple contract.
Yet the nerves are still dead.

Only a hand rouses them
And other things too,
Sliding down far too far.
Limbs are weak, and wits too
To weak to provide a fight
Though one is wanted
As the nerves are born anew.
Samuel Nov 2017
Honor the contract
Created from need
Ne'erdoweel or no
Never fail it
Inside the room
Ready for talk
Timid words falling
Feast growing cold
Consort smiling slyly
Serving a drink
Denying all harm
Heeding him on
Only a sip
Sampling the wine
Warily quenching thirst
Theories crumpling fully
Fear takes rest
Realing now swaying
Swearing it’s fine
Fog filling head
Honor the contract
Coy hands searching
Slipping down cloth
Creeping ever near
No resistance given
Grunts of perplexion
Shying away slowly
Slightly fearing her
Hands find purchase
Pulling away fabric
Fraying nerves burn
But no strength
Staring with wonderment
Wanting yet not
Nowhere to run
Relishment of terror
Taking by force
Forged with poison
Poured into drink
Damning him totally
To honor it
Samuel Nov 2017
The blade’s light
Lifting’s no feat
Fiery sword cutting
Carving through transparisteel
Steady hand needed
Never cutting fatally
For the Code.

The blade’s heavy
Hard to swing
Swearing while hefting
Till it falls
Filling the room red
Retching, staring, wondering
Warping the Code.
Samuel Nov 2017
She’s gelded you, boy
That familiar cry
Runs through your mind
Insistently weaving in
Tainting your mood always
Souring your disposition
So that you, even you
Who is so patient
Slams down a cup
Losing your tolerance
With him, your cousin
And still she has broken you
She has and she steals
Pries away your men and women
Breaking your hold
Attacking your character
All that you are
Brier Iron-thorn, a name lost
A name stolen by her
And she has gelded you, boy
But you, no longer so patient
You wrote a note
And now you wait
Your raving barely contained

I am not gelded, Father
Samuel Nov 2017
Blood boiling
Heart pounding
Burgeoning rage
Only barely contained
Hidden behind that door
That door upon which
Rests your hand
Faltering, failing

Open me, open me
Shouts your mind
Open me, open me
Scream your hands
Aching, burning
Pained by a need
To act, to bring about
Self-destruction so near

An end to anxiety
Setting it all out
To be overtaken
A wave of hate rushing
Over you, over all
Dark, dark
Full of hate
A raving madman
Who shouts even now
Open it, open it
And as you slink away
Screams even now
Coward, coward
Samuel Nov 2017
Give us the strength
to break what needs breaking
to be the monster who is a hero
fierce fury felling foes fully
burning like Regonereth
nemeses in our own right
Give us that strength
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