"Anyone who plots to harm the innocence of others

has a special hell realm waiting for their soul someday.

The manipulation of sorcery is real. Sorcerers are real.

They may feast on the energy of others now, 

but the lower bardos of cursed-desire await them in the end."

doña Río (Kuma-sensei)


I don't want to live on a constant war-footing.

I've led whole lives like that...my sword always an arm's length away.

 

I don't want to live on a constant war-footing.

My unwavering desire to protect your innocence from harm

doesn't want that for you either.

Who can enjoy the cherry blossoms that way?

 

I don't want to live on a constant war-footing

but if we're honest about it,

really and truly honest about it,

there is a darkness in this world

that would take your light if it could,

just as it's always been.

 

I don't want to live on a constant war-footing

but if we're honest about it,

really and truly honest about it,

there is a darkness in some men's souls.

They learn sweet words,

craft their allurements,

practice their warlock's dance into the late hours.

They plot elaborate mesh-like traps;

study the terrain, perfect the hunt,

delivering smooth "sensitive" lines

to make you think they are an ally

when, all the while, they are students of "cornering."

 

Then, like a tendon snapping in a snare, they pounce,

and they feed, feed, feed

all because they're empty and lonely.

And if it's not you, it's someone else;

and that's how you know the Warlock's Dance

because, in truth, it could be any warm body.  

 

I don't want to live on a constant war-footing

but if we're honest about it,

really and truly honest about it,

there is a darkness in this world

that would consume your light if it could.

If yours was ever wrested away

and you wrestled it back one day,

you know of what I speak.

 

I don't want to live on a constant war-footing

but I am now strangely calm on this eve of battle.

It won't be the first time you and I have stared Soul-Eaters in the eye

and sung the ancient Taming Demons Chant from the mountains we once knew.


(c) 2018 Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Robert Rich, What We Left Behind

 

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