Derrick Puente

Rookie (10/15/1981 / Austin, Texas)

Not the Port but the Grave


When the battle turned
The general could tell
That life, it would be simpler
Now that the despot fell

Through the smoke and haze
On through the open graves
Blood is the great sacrifice
Of which we all will pay

Yet hope it glories strong
Right at the victory
Masking common dreams
And hard reality

A footfall may exclaim:
“The journey will begin! ”
Yet who’s to say what Fate rules out
When hope will rise or bend

The hand has felled a city
A word has killed a king
And like the Zephyr blowing-
Look what Silence brings!

Crawling on a heated knife
To the point of flame
We tread on like a single soul
Whose passions wax and wane

Laying in the rubble
Among the aftermath
A stone was once a temple
Until our Faith met Wrath

Love, she reigns in ruins
Her strength is in our tears
But we pray to fall again
And give our tears to Fear

He’s there among the darkness
Muddled in dark thought
So simple, yet so treacherous-
Can the ‘self’ be fought?

Divide then all our principles
Our ethics and their cause
And see the villain hidden
Under a secret law

When hope abandons one
It abandons all
For we are judged by Terror
To remain enthralled

Yet as the violence yields
To the breaking storm
Look unto the seas
A hero taking form

They sail on towards Immensity
Not knowing where they’ll land
And as this mortal rows-
Lift then too your hand.

Submitted: Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Edited: Thursday, December 26, 2013

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