The Warrior

Author’s Note: This is the first poem I wrote that could be tied to the War and Peace Saga. I like it, but I’m having that writer’s ambivalence about adding poetry to what is rightfully a series of vignettes.

The longest night of the year
Darkened to coal black by her heart’s darkness
Her sword, heavy and burdensome,
Made onerous by the blood-guts
Of years of skirmishing the enemy

Smoke heavy and grey
Chokes her
With the confusion and miscommunication
So common to this fight

Child warriors litter the battlefield
Birthed too early for full maturity
They ran to fight too soon
Ill prepared for the wiles of the enemy
They ignorantly wandered onto the battlefield
Slain by fire from friend and foe

She surveys the territory
Soaked in blood
But it’s wrong
The wrong blood has been applied
So no remedy exists for tactical errors
Of the church militant

She longs to be in her living quarters
Adorned for a life mate
Coming to return her to paradise, to peace
Yet the Bridegroom waits, tarries
And the battle continues

She melds into the scene
Drawn to a quiet place
So absent in a land of chaos
Her bloody sword thumps in the bloody grass
She sinks to her knees
As the battle rages
No words escape her lips
Her heart’s rhythm
The only prayer

She waits

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