THE MAD WARRIOR POETS TALE

[THE MAD WARRIOR POETS TALE]
A LITTLE CHAMBER MUSIC FOR YOU...
http://youtu.be/J8243YUI5Oc

He walking back from the place where he goes.
That place where there is none but he echoing into the all and the neither.
That is he and the voices of all that he has seen.
The joy and the adulation... the cries of release... sexual and otherwise... the love and the satisfaction.
Pain and hurt are such constant companions that they remain regulated to a corner in the shadows whispering, whispering. "We are here."
They along with fear, rejection and depression play at a puzzle on a table lit by a lonesome candle.
Rearing their heads and sniggering at developments as they were.
He walks with his head high as all soldiers do who live for the art of war.
He born of the turmoil which is carried in his soul like a lantern shining, shining.
The people who see him sense that there is purpose and part to let him pass... they know that those who stand in his way shall fall one way or the other for even if he were to die in violence he would take some with him.
Such is the way of his stride.
At times like a delicate waltz and at other times like the crashing and concussive sound of an explosion.
He has seen his death and committed himself to it in his headlong charge to wake the sleeping soldiers and their future wives.
The time grows near as the mountains glisten with the falling snows and the grasses bow with the approaching winters wind.
The tattered clothes that he wears are the mark of his failures and his achievements... flapping and waving as modern vehicles pass his ancient soul by.
He turns and disappears into the well of living souls but a figment of imagination.
Walking away.

JERALD HAMZAHFARUQ MURPHY