He arrived on a black horse,
wielding a blade of bone and sinew
hewn from the soldered fragments of
splintered sentiments
and shards of shattered dreams-
he rode gallantly into the stillness of
the frigid night,
dead leaves glittering past like
confetti-
the light frost reflecting bits of moon
and scattered stars-
plumes of mist steaming from the nostrils
of the galloping steed like smoke from a speeding
train-
it panted heavily under the strain of the
rider’s swift and aggressive kick-
i stood firm as I heard the horse round the
distance-
a mighty rhythm-
i’d dreamed of this moment,
this final moment-
was I dreaming now?
the cold seemed to crystallize my blood,
or was it fear?
or both-
i stood firm,
inhaled the crisp air,
closed my eyes,
and readied myself-
i thought of a passage from the past-
the only thing that had changed was my age-
the message, one of paralysis and solitude
persisted-
a message of atrophy and of fear-
a record broken long ago-
a broken record, spinning its jagged tune
to a deserted room-
a dusty piece of music heard by two ears
and a long darkened space-
for so long, my shield could not resist the
blows, they were so constant-
for so long, my sword could not parry
the strikes, they were so consistent-
and for so long, I gave in to the struggle-
was worn down by the strain of battle-
left panting on one knee in the stillness of
the dense frost-
my shield covering my face as the hymn of
the sword glanced off of it-
I endured this war, and the fury of
my hollow assailant-
often, I bled-
each wound torn open by my backward
steps-
each wicked thrust drove me backward-
only in time did I realize that I was
striking myself-
inflicting savagery and blinded by my
own pain-
lost in my fury-
I swung wildly and hit no one but myself,
and I bled-
tears of blood-
tears of life from the deepest interior-
tears of innocence from shining days-
tears of love wept from eyes long since
dried-
life moves-
days tick with the consistency of a
fine clock,
a timed bomb anticipating its
final moment-
the hooves struck the ground with
purpose, a thunderous repetition
that rumbled ominously on the frozen
ground-
I was ready for this fight-
but would it be the last?
I stood still as the rider rounded the bend
at full speed-
his armor glinting in light of the full
moon-
his arrival heralded by the whistle of the
wind in the reaching trees-
his shadowy visage made eerie by the
starkness of the white frost,
and the dead leaves that waved like
flakes of snow-
I never saw his face as he rode toward
me, rough sword drawn high over his
head, readying his blow-
I lifted my shield and welcomed his
challenge*
steve jablonsky – a man named fred kreuger
Recent Comments