A Kiss, A Pen. Poem by Ryan Swanson

Under moonlight, wind brings lore of war, rotten with grief and sorrow.
Arise in external dreams’ love for tomorrow’s lie.
Desperation’s screams of dying men; beg, to trade, a life to borrow.
In frightful howls of doom, a graceful kiss; comforting, then to die.

Recurring misery in pathetic ends for those of Pizarro.
Thus in shame, this cursed and generic age weeps to cry.
Like this we bathe in blood upon foreign mats of yarrow;
swollen rivers’ current, already drunk in red.
We bleed and wail like those of Achilles’ sigh,
in glorifying agony until the unreachable riverbed.

OH the fight, a belligerent and slow struggle, born from a tales’ tale.

In her presence, a scent of rose; clothed in beauty, storms of truth.
Lending soft her seductive kiss, to which all men yield.
Swift does fear flee from such a lust; her remedy to youth,
Then do memory flood those passionate hearts.
A kiss, a pen; in a continues instant their fate is sealed.

Thus is told the tale of all.
Enter by light we walk, then meek;
By darkness we speak, then only crawl.
By her graze, born in mystery and peace,
Return to light, from beast to child.
But then, is not every kiss as such?