Ares Cry

Yes....
I remember Ares' cry...
He cried for me from the
Passion holds of my heart,
Force welling over my walls
Of pumping muscle,
His paths of loss
Marked in pools of salt crystal
And flaking brown
Where once lives breathed
And danced and fondled warm
Chests of loved ones and
Poured kisses over flowers
And trees and lips alike
Before the scream emerged,
And first tore at He
Who would strike me down.
And when I arose,
The cry infused my brain
And made me forget
The peace I had walked before,
My feet planting the grooves
In castle and field
Where brown and salt would
Later grow from the harvest
Of my arm and steel.
I am content now...
And yet the cry arises anew,
A shadowstorm brewing
From the absent songs
And laughter of yesteryear.
But in glassy essence,
My sad smile shows no signs
Of sieges lost or rages coming.
I look at myself and note
Reflections of soldiers many,
Yes...
But while all have been me,
I am now!
Whatever drums be beaten,
I shall be deaf to their invitation,
And for Ares’ spectacle
Hold no blade and wear no armor....

This tired "soldier" is
Intent on book, and crop,
And dying in my sleep.