HONORING OUR VETERANS

Pendulums Prayer


I want to know that age again, when I was just a boy of ten. When hide and seek was played for kicks, and war a game in woods with sticks.
Until the mist of Hunting Hush, came scouting over rock and brush, as fog to silence life and leaves, for giants reaching through the trees.
They hungered for a tender treat, that only children fear they’ll meet, forcing us to change our form, to woodland creatures long adorned.
Then morning rays as gilded swords, battled back the crawling hoards, that crept past sentries high above, when day slipped on its sleeping glove.
It seems nine lives as least since then, when I was just a boy of ten. I pray you’ll take me back again, at least nine lives for memories then.
For now the fog betrays my trust, as gods anoint the Hunting Hush, to lead deaths woe across our lands, with hidden foe ten times our hands.
Our fields of youth are burned to seed, where laughter bloomed to honor creed. The way back home is blocked by man, who counts our breaths with falling sand.
Will the watchers come at last, and arm the keeps of castles past, to crush the evil in mans soul, that blackens more than once was whole.
But now I . . . feel the breeze before the storm, from our forefathers, freedom born. They whisper hope to fear not son, for, fear engaged will turn and run.
So let this day begin with rain, to wash the earth of wound and pain. And heed the warning as foretold, by mother bears in dens of old.
For we’ll not sleep – we’ve will to fight and raise our brothers fallen light, to gather strength through steps of hell – for one last swing at freedoms bell.
Then let the robe and misty vale, decide whose song will sing this tale, as weathered peace recording feats, beyond the years of painted streets.