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Tucker Martindale
The wings of death rise upon the fiery planes of earth, They signal the defeat of evilness and bring about rebirth.
Scorching and burning all life across its blazing path, Leaving no deductions for human life its marked through the math.
The wings of white stretch the sky like great hands of god, Claiming all creation with feats atrod.
An armeggedon started by the cruelty of sin, a end to the beginning and the death of men.
Standing and looking upon starry visions, Remembering the pain and tears. Crossing the river into deadly missions, Vexing life and destroying crippling fears.
Looking to the brightest hour, It sits on my darkest day. Forging onwards to memories sour, Connecting to spirit's ghastly sway.
Glorious shouts of battle echo far, Frozen winters blaze the field. Alone upon wastes and furies scar, Smiting the fruits of war with shield.
Upon the misty shores of saint evenrude, where crisp sunsets and waves crash along, there he stood. Unandorned with no jewels of kingship he bathed in regret, a duty he so dutifully performed, the props no longer with set. Harkening to another world, a universe somber to destiny fade life had sang to him of death and love, he pushed through water;wade, From castles mystic peeks of metal and stone; to the bottom crests from the sea of bone. Throwing off his pride, waited so patiently for a return conscious surrounded him, and sang in gleeful spurn. And upon the death of saint evenrude without a bit of spite laid the ghosts of heaven, him and pride striken from sight.
The way the words reach through the pen. They seek out my name, its constant beat. When treaty and war fight within, The words flow in soothing melodies upon the sheet. Cascading with pain, love and death, Imminence billowing through door and stall The frosty sentence upon his breath. Hear the voice of heaven call. Letter upon letter in a joyous approach, Sing jubilant and expectant hymns of elegance. Shepherd and farmer doth have words to loathe. In a variable unlike the royal magnificence. Writing upon with flexible jade, The hands at which stories be born, Conspiracy to thoughts before they bade. In essence the words from sheet to scorn.
Oh dear love:
We began this journey amid happiness, and tranquility. Never exchanged the good-bye owed to us by months of depart. I gaze out upon the old wooden pier a symbol of the distance. Shattered and broken lay the pieces of heart you left for me to assemble.
Desperate pain seeps through my being, fate thoroughly searched me. Yet, no return, a message in a bottle never washed upon the crimson sand,
Singlet tears stream down to greet the old love letters that we wrote.
Future anniversaries never to part with the thought that brought them. Strength never kept me, whimsical fantasies our love-creation would birth.
The water's deep secret abides desolation eerily haunting my spiritual agreement to understand the deathly specter that haunts my visage in the mirror.
Your love letters never left my grasp as we walked to the final destination, overlooking the southern Pacific, an island miles out specked the horizon with visions of paradise a humble idea capable of suiting your Grecian needs. And as one last tear grips to the contour of my ever-calm face I realize, and in total dismay cry out to your painful experience to my life, the way you noticed my heart beat from the other spirits, you touched me, and gave me only a taste, however bad our relationship ended, you felt me. I remain in purgatory, a dimension arid with aloneness and silence. You never left my grasp as I watched the sky and world around me blur together.
Transpiring I grappled at the air around me to suppress the addiction it felt to the land, and as the last remnants of my vision operated, I gazed once more to the sun, jealous of its tremendous life-span its constant relationship to the moon, lovers for eternity.
A slight smirk behooved me and I pushed the love letters, your final absence of life and longevity to my breast and accepted your invitation to the golden streets of Avalon.
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