Before
you conquered worlds, defeated memory's ranks,
Deployed
the rains of hell to fight your fight;
Before
you battled ice and heat, left gods outflanked,
Left
terrified the terrors of the night,
You
must have sliced your soul, let spirit bleed,
Pierced
innocence, cut horse-skin for your heart.
The
needs of war require the death of need,
The
loss of loss, and grief for grief, to start.
My
trauma leaves me little skill, but lust
And
shameless scorn for those who've shut me down.
Pathetic
tears can't fashion life from dust;
What
lesson now can sun draw out from stone?
Though
by my age you'd played the thief to God,
Time
waits. I'll purple history with my blood.
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