A corpse limps from the caverns of the room.
The cold by my side lingers.
His expression is an obscured slate,
no face visible beyond a wayward morality.
Crawling down the back of my neck and toying with my nerves,
a quiet voice enters the space,
offering a plain request:
Fix a foe who has passed into an unknown.
Defy the mechanics of death itself when exposed to an unprepared mind.
I can care not, for I have no power.
Save a life that has flickered out of time and into memory,
torturing a spirit too young to comprehend.
I can care not, for I know not the way.
Seeping silently out of a growing agony,
a storm begins its invasion of innocence.
Wind races about,
bounding off of the tiles,
the gusts of a mounting anger forming an immovable object
stained with the recollection of trauma on repeat,
the tragedy that makes a boy a soldier,
and a soldier into a hollowed bearer of a scythe
swinging wild at anything that crosses its path.
Here is where the crosshair comes to focus.
Through the hole it makes in my chest,
I see a sniper’s aim straight to my allegiance.
True or not, it is no difference;
The risk is emanating from a towering boy
turned killer by circumstance.
Let it find its match in this room.
I am the palace walls that have yet to fall.
I am the barrier that sustains the life behind.
I am the one with a purpose to find,
a promise to keep,
a word to abide by.
Use everything that you care to use.
Your ambition will land on the shield I create.
As a hurricane finds purchase in unbridled ire,
routes are shuttered at their escapes.
Found in the range of a reaper’s ceaseless lust,
what’s left to consider is to hold fast in the soil
and fight for the secret all too transparent.
( ❤ Mitch)