Of Time and Loss

To what horizons are we headed for

When four walls close? All day I see the grey

Blurred patterns, feel the tightening, reddening sore

Left by a single cuff, without a way

To cut the bonds of long, heavy hair, or

Make sense of narratives without an end.

So I will travel far to distant plains

Through storms and sands and seas and swamps and rains


To where Colossi roam on grassy land –

Those sentinels who stride like oaks, with moss

For hair and burning lamps for eyes. They stand

Before the gilded gates of time and loss

Where seven sages sleep by hourglass sand.

But when the sages wake they call to me:

“Thy sword, lift up thy sword unto the light

And blest this hea’enly sword will be, young knight!”


To Outlands I will ride and seal my fate.

Predestined paths of flame shall sear and come

To make the barren realm disintegrate

In fire and ash. Diablo rises from

The smoky pyre; his hot desire to sate

Eternal hunger fuels and endless fight.

I face oblivion. An hourglas turn

Will bid me briskly once again return


To rolling hills. But every blade of grass

That shines too vividly, and every swing

Of sparkling sword, I know, will sing of farce

The more I undertake this task. Oh bring

Your story in my temporal life to pass

And give me purpose set apart from my

Own vain desires. A sword of Spirit I

Must wield beneath a vast and boundless sky.