I am the silent form

The pilgrim
Sad old man
Bleeds in vain
For praying on my highway
The bell that spilled water glazed

Granddaughter
Left to thieves
Sold to wealth
She’s no home but changing hands
No time for marrying plans

I am a man out of hell
I wield the form that is mute
I stare, a blank, where they fell
Bodies
Strung out

Too suave to be called a brute
Though red this sword yet remains
I live to bear bloody fruit
Families
Love’s doubt

What midnight sickens these brains?
What swordpoint I call a heart?
What devil over me reigns?
Nightmares
See light

No love glows in these eyes

When did my punishment start?
Was it my father’s slow death?
With she whose love is a dart?
Red drowns
Pure night

The flames of Hell stirred by breath
Of demon unseen but felt
Will warm my face beyond death
Always
Burning

The woman
Another’s
Sword-disrobed
Beneath the pounding of gears
A wheel by water’s pour robs

The offspring
His fever
Cries alone
He’ll die by Mother’s short sword
Or die by Father’s neglect

Salvation’s in letting blood
What’s murder in others’ eyes
Are holy plants grown from mud
Blooming
Sword thrust

The swordsman before me dies
A leveling despite skill
There’s death for him though he tries
His blade
Turns rust

I live with every kill
My ruin, then, knows no end
Eternity will fulfill
My thirst
For game

No heart beats in this robe

The spirit, sword’s, meant to rend
So who does he hope to save
By sheathing as with a friend?
Though death’s
The same

There is no path that can pave
A road to burying Hell
The world, its madness will rave
Like mine
All die