Oh such a Fort is this
The body for the mind.
This shallow skin
Hides the true depth of hearts,
And the whole of inspiration.
But this ferocious life
And fickle self,
Holds hard to the senses,
And the mind bleeds is victims
Filling oceans with countless sorrows.
Even so, Mars awaits,
With sword drawn and glistening,
Ready for a new offence.
Yet this war, any war
Masquerades as self defence.
And of the history
In the East
I can speak of little or of nought,
For their legion struggles
Of such, we are never taught.
This hand is capable and helping,
This grip on blade is stronger.
To cut the harvest, feed the child
And count the Devils hunger.
Oh Self you cruel and heartless master
You cripplecripplerr in the Night,
You hound the Soul and scatter Love
You lull yourself with your delight.
(C) 2018 Christopher Thompson.