Eric's Poetry
The Centerpiece of Mortal Clay
Neutrality blends with the greyAs black and white wage war, then die
The battlefield then fades to grey
When death comes calling , black is white
"Your not my kind!", their battle cry
I'd rather die than live that lie
But those of us that stand between
This war of color is hardly seen
We tend to blend, we ARE the grey
The centerpieces of mortal clay
And if this world is to survive:
ALL must blend or all WILL die.
The Black Lie
Black verseBlack hearts
Moon Entwined with Thorned roses
Dark skies
Windless night
Scorched Earth
And Butterflies
White Souls
Borne to Heaven
Torn Apart
In Purgatory
Like the Snake in Eden
And the Moon and Roses
And the Lure of Evil
And the Silent Darkness
Without ever feeling, knowing, wanting
To Touch the Body of Christ
To lay down a life
To Flame a Quiet Fire
To Settle down and Die
While still the Moon is tied with the stalks of Roses
And Heaven is still a Lie
The Crusader
Brilliant sunlight gleamsupon the Crusader's shining shield
his sword is drawn
a battle looms
and before the dawn
the infidels will die
Is it right to do this deed?
to kill another man for faith?
for Gods glory
against the commandments
the battlefield is gory
with the blood of man
The Crusader waits upon the hill
sword in hand and battle bared
refusing to fight
against the TEN
it is his right
to stop the murder
Although he will be cast in chains
or heaved into the dungeon, dank
he will not fight
he keeps his faith
it is not right
since Heaven awaits
all pious men
Fey Songs
Flit and flitter tiny wingsupon the myth of magic brings
the tiny folk, in flight, they sing
of times gone by and pretty things
but mostly songs of pretty things.
They sing of dew drops in the sun.
They sing of how the horses run.
The songs of beauty that are sung
bring joyful tears to everyone
brings tears to everyone.
Whether Fey or Mortal born,
if lonely child or man forlorn
or fretful woman full of scorn,
a fairy song will pull the thorn,
will pull out sorrows thorn.
Twill make the bitter night seem gay,
will chase the inner beast away,
cause happiness to come and play
and brighten 'ere the darkest day,
shine through the darkest day.
Restful Wicked
So Restful Wicked in their sleepThe huddled masses fed like sheep
Entrapped by prejudice and hate
They mutilate and then migrate
To find another sow to sew
Upon their quilt of bravado
So they can sleep in restful bliss
Upon the blood of innocents
As a side note, This poem is being published in the up coming
Between Darkness and Light anthology.
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