The End

 

Forlorn they cry where shadows lie
And husbands leave the home
Sons and brothers, uncles and fathers,
Across a dead land roam

Skies of black above their backs
Shoulders hunched by woe
A weary tred as legions head
To face the tyrant foe

For rest they yearn while fires burn
Beacons on the horizon
Terror signs of evil times
And shadow hordes arising

A shifting cloak of boiling smoke
An acrid rotting smell
Hid beasts of death with poisonous breath
Eyes lit with fires of hell

Face to face with weapons raised
In a land gone black with blight
Brave men roared when arrows soared
Shadows called delight

On that field did no man yield
Each and all were slain
The shadow hordes and Midnight Lords
Marched on to bloody reign

©Aarron Mondello 29/7/2018

The Poetess

 

 

The Poetess in her overalls
On a stump atop a hill
A breeze ruffling through the grass
Though all else around is still

 

Her head is tilted back
Staring up at cloudless skies
Visions of her life
Flash across her eyes

 

In her hand she holds a pen
A book rests upon her lap
A graceful flowery hand
Covers pages front and back

 

Her mouths hangs wide and open
Her soft singing on the wind
Notes becoming letters
As they spiral through her pen

 

The letters splash like waves
In shifting changing whirls
Forming graceful poetry
As her many tales unfurl

 

Her poems grow slowly stronger
Carrying her pain away
Painting happy memories
In a light as bright as day

 

She sat in timeless stillness
Until every page was full
Put down her book, walked away
And followed heavens pull

 

©Aarron Mondello
6/6/2018