Memory Of A Past Life Poem by Stonedcore Poet

Memory Of A Past Life



Like a bolt of lightning the stroke of faith takes away motion
Instantly freezing me in place
As one thought floods my every being
The caress of a shadow brushing my aura
I awaken from the daze of my exhaustion
I cannot yet give way
I am given mere trickles of sand to react to the onslaught
A rush of emotion crashes against my will
The coward, the preserver of life screaming at my soul, keep running
The courageous, the fool, refusing to budge any more
The hair on skin standing tall
The cold of night and rain no longer felt
Heart beating, as though wanting to burst free of chest
Senses hyphened to predator like sharpness
Of steel and the rising sun I fill myself
Of tears on loved ones faces and flowers on my grave wasted
of Steel to fight the fear and to stop its powerful assault on my heart
Of the sun to fill me with courage, to face this what may be my last encounter
Of tears that I will not allow to be spilled anytime soon
Of flowers that must bring happiness not sorrow to those of my blood
I feel every rupture, leaking my life into the puddles beneath me
The rain pouring even harder, Yet I feel no pain, nor cold
After sending to flight a dozen arrows, taxing screams of agony off of my pursuers
After sending to the gates of Hades many an enemy, wounding and being wounded
I feel the force of my life drain away and my body's strength fail
Yet I feel no more fear, nor am I tired
I grab the hand guiding the instrument of death towards the steed of my soul
I counter it with my own, crafted of steel and set in a grip of antler
Covered with strings of velvet and maroon, towards the hooded figure
Forgive me brother for I must take from u that which u look to steal of me
As I twist and break the grip, freeing the dagger from the thief
As i prepare to plunge my own into my foe
I hear a shriek of pain, not one that could go unchecked
Not one that I can place and make sense of
I roll over my aggressor, pin down and uncover his face
Mud, sweat and a deep hatred in the eyes make it difficult
But as the realization rushes in, as the hesitation to finish the deed holds my hand
As I finally understand the girlish moan, it is a woman, as that thought takes hold
I realize too late, I have let go of her hand. and a searing pain announces her dagger
As it enters between my ribs, and I awaken from my slumber,
knowing not if this recurring dream is a memory or a warning

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success