Eastern Guard Poem by Tsani Jones

Some things change
While others merely
Stay the same.
Such I ponder in the
Dim of licking candle flame.

As if I am the only
Crusader of conscience,
I plan battles in realms
Present and on
Distant plains unseen.

Every day is a new
Weapon with which I
Wield unknown virtue.
At night the guard watches
The very safety of my soul.

And thus I live,
General to an ant army,
Foot soldier to
I know not what,
But I survive.

Orders arrive, and are
Executed without prejudice,
Tiny flowers on an
Eternal vine of
Service and search.

My furlough is unknown.
My mission is divine,
Wrapped into the progress of the
Universe as so many layers of
Submerged wisdom.

The waters that float my
Spirit onto the proving grounds
Wash the blood of the day
From the dirt, from the sand,
Away from the sight of despair.

With granularity of vision,
And a pointed target,
The inferno of necessary
Conquest ceases control.

With the sword of my divinity, I attack.