James Vaughn


Necromancers Handshake - Poem by James Vaughn

A warm breeze blew through the day with a Childs enthusiasm. Surrounded by thoughts of days gone by, I felt sad for the missed things I never saw. I sat feeling not the warm glow of the day, but the cold chill of expectation. I wallowed in indifference while showering praise for ideals not known in my heart.

The wind turned chill as the blood through my veins flowed. On a weathered throne I sat watching the demons of my accomplishments never achieved. Dancing before me in a grotesque troupe they pirouette frantically to a macabre sonnet written by my apathy.

Silent screams split the air of my dank void. Words of fortitude and gallantry echo hollow in this land. Retreating is the desire to condone these events as I watch them unfold. Perverse inhabitants of this nether realm proclaiming awareness above mere mankind spew lexis of glowing rhetoric from the darkest recesses.

Such glowing terms of success are withered by the weight of those who fall victim to the cold grip of a necromancer’s handshake. Can mere words shadow the truth lying in the heart of a warrior?

Tedium is the dulling edge of which my thoughts reside. Oft chance encounters of resoluteness spurn me forward to achieve greatness defined in my heart not as remembrance but fortuitous deed.


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Poem Submitted: Friday, December 11, 2009



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