by Michael R. Burch
Until the great & mighty heron
brandishes his fearsome sword.
I wrote this poem for a great blue heron who visits a pond that I pass on my daily walks — a truly majestic bird and the ultimate spear-fisher.
A lance is such a different thing
In a different age
Perceived by those who turn and ride off, away
What is the best way in modern day?
To avenge unrest, to strike and sway
In a time when the world throws words away
Catch truth and cradle it in trust
Till the strike rings true
Till the passive armor falls and is stripped away
let there be oceans, god said.
and oceans there were, and god prevailed.
now comes a boy with brown skin, eyes
colored with moonless skies and sunlit seas, who
embraces god’s creation like a childhood friend.
maybe the ocean is his friend and it his;
calling him, drawing him for attention, for
companionship, for love.
life, however, obstructs his path; takes him
away from his soulmate, and
it hurts not to be with the ocean; but
no matter what happens, he will come home soon.
I carry this lance
To carry on the fame
Of the forgotten name
To show the weak
What they seek
To cast out fear
And end every tear
So come what may
I'll bring about a new day
With the chance
Provided to me by his lance
raggid sharp points
cutting skin and flesh
graising what you once held
soft nimble fingers, which now tightly grip my neck
life leaving my eyes as i see the passion burn in yours
your silohette leaving distant memorys of which i wont live to remember
your hands look so much bigger in fists
but i guess it just goes to show
everything is bigger in texas
thoughts are the songs of the mind
only myself may hear,
louder than laughter
audible as low-toned whispers.
sanctuary of the fugitive heart
when all else has failed
or fled like rats
from a sinking ship.
untold secret of an heir
which seldom finds a confidant
if only not uttered in sleep.
unbreaking lance of the errant
with sinews rare
as his hands are bare.
father of action
son of an idle cloud.
bereave me of my lance
i shall be!
I was told, last night
my friend Nathan died.
Took three to the chest
from an angry .45.
The shooter, I knew, too
his name is Lance
who always tucked that
monster in his pants.
Now, if you don't know guns
taking a round from a .45
is not what one might
go ahead and call fun.
The bullet goes in smooth
but erupts from the back
and blood does go and spew
like a crimson monsoon.
Nathan was not too smart,
but the kid did have heart.
He "loved" Christie, Allie
Haley, Nicole and Bailey.
That's just to name a few.
His one big, mistake though,
was getting with Caitlyn--
sister of the shooter, I knew.
Here's to my friend Nathan,
who took three from a .45
your lust knew no bounds
and it cost you your life.
The Lancer: Life Lancer...
The final sweep through this once dead planet is done..
This is my favorite part about this job..
I land in a desert lifeless, golden sand mixed with black..
This wasteland will come to life..
I look to the sky and see life reborn..
It starts with a magnificient spirial of colors as the atmoshere begins to awake..
I stand in the sand and watch this world come to life..
The first storm is on the horizon..
Deep blues among deep blues I swear the sky is the ocean..
All colors of lightning begin to arc the dead away..
The entire planet is quickly engulfed in the Ultra storm..
I can feel the planet smile again..
LIFE has become the apocalypse for the apocalypse..
Its time to leave..
L A N C E R
— The End —