Treasure Island

Arik Fletcher

(Zimbabwe)

Astral


a call to bring your armies forth,
the old, the young- so soon from birth,
they come from east, south, west and north,
from all across the distant earth,

a cry, a scream, such aweful sound,
the pain and death rage all around,
so many spread across the ground,
the battle lost- no glory found,

a hush so soft you almost cry,
it gives you wings so you can fly,
high up above all those who pry,
your head from neck in just one try,

the silence sings your soul to sleep,
and takes you from that ancient keep,
your mind from in this dream so deep,
into your waking life will creep.

Submitted: Thursday, February 25, 2010

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