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Poem

To you of broken minds and broken souls, 
For whom do you bow?
Is it the sky’s fyre, who rises west of the east and sleeps beyond your grasp,
Or have you found a blacksmith to call your master?
Intrude not upon me with your sad tears
Trailing clean paths upon your muddy boots
I will crack my breast open underneath your weight,
And swallow you in darkness until your bones return to my ribs

Who are you to defy me?
Calling forth for blood; iron ore more valuable than mine
Am I nothing to you? Do my sands not churn themselves
To blind you, to scratch at your throat 
Like the blades you hold close to your heart
Heavy footfalls dissuade hard rock,
Veins of molten pitch pour themselves over your eyes
And yet you continue to ask more of me.

For every one of your footprints,
There is a mile of my warm earth beneath
I allow you to stand just as easily as I can wrap around your ankles
Pull down and break your flesh into rotten brimstone
Tear you away, bit by bit,
Until even the tree roots cannot recognise you

When that day comes, remember:
Your bloodied hands will join mine just as the peacekeeper’s does
And your sword wrapped in vines will be your headstone


- From the Earth, with love

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