#jame
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
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:38 PM UTC
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.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:37 PM UTC
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.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:33 PM UTC
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.
Yours,
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.
Nov 18, 2017
Nov 18, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
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
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 1:39 PM UTC
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
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 1:36 PM UTC
There are seven you know.
Seven hues,
Bright with meaning.
Grey and red,
Colors of grief,
Mourning and remembrance both.
A cry and an exaltation.
Black and gold,
Colors of truth.
A blade in hand,
Seeking justice and vengeance.
Green and blue,
Colors of ethic,
Steadfast in one’s work
Mind on responsibility and consistency.
And then there is orange,
Shereshoy, you call it
You Mando’ad
Reveling in life on death’s edge.
There are seven you know
Yet none fit
And so you pick your own
A hue for you and you alone.
You pick white.
Stark, harsh white
Clear, visible, no means to hide
Nor intent.
White of ivory,
Of the gleam of Mando iron,
The white of bones,
Old, picked clean
Reminder of life
White so bright, brilliant
Burning eyes of the dying
Leading them back home
Back to the Manda
Skills in hand.
You pick white.
White for death,
Of death.
You are white.
White for death,
Of death.
Ja’haili, ner Buir.
Ja’haili ner oya’kare.
Kar’tayli ni ijaati gar bajur.
Nov 16, 2017
Nov 16, 2017 at 1:35 PM UTC
Hail Regonereth-Incarnate
The Face of Death as It Walks
Priest's-bane, Earth Wife's Favorite
Knorth Lordan, Father of Merikit
Ten and Ran, Rider of Madness
Keep our backs straight
Our claws sharp
Our minds focused
Pull down the dishonored
The liars and cowards and unjust
Tear down their works
And raise up a mocking cry
Embolden us and break us
The Knorth Jamethiel, One of the Three
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:11 PM UTC
She is ruining you
Ensnaring you just as warned
Looking on at you
At your hands fondly, wantonly
Regarding you well
Teasing and poking and prodding
Yet also caring
Though not often
The hug has ruined you,
And the kiss too.
Who kissed who?
Why do you not care?
Where is your fear?
Oh.
There it is.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:04 PM UTC
What is strength?
You’re not quite sure.
Father taught it to be hardness,
Unyielding fear and distrust,
Screeching, scrabbling, striking out
All love crushed before it spreads.
She teaches it to be rebellion,
Standing up in the face of all,
Tearing down walls, breaking up bones
A resounding no and a fierce affirmation.
Experience taught it to be lacking,
Lost and nowhere to be found
In the possession of others
With you always groping about.
Where is strength?
You’re not quite sure.
Nov 15, 2017
Nov 15, 2017 at 12:03 PM UTC