Ronin
Forty-seven men,
hereditary nobles,
military samurais,
serving their master,
who was betrayed and killed by
another lord, ronin's, they
turned masterless, schemed
samurai, three years
spun thieves, mercenaries, and
madmen, delight all
the challenges that are faced,
the adrenaline that is
peaked, did kill their lord
master betrayer and their
met deed, all did seppuku,
a mass suicide,
belief be dead, chose
myth, honor, than masterless.
***A ronin (drifter or wanderer) was a samurai without a lord or master during the feudal period (1185–1868) of Japan. A samurai became masterless upon the death of his master or after the loss of his master's favor or privilege.
2020 March 26
Howmanysyllables;
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Dishonorable Tao pen,
your fealty strokes
are guided by
shogun lust for the yen
Quill treachery
blot your avarice ambition
Devious calligraphy
be the torn loyalty decision
Vain kimono pride
is bushido vow laid aside
Naked truth disrobed —
Coin motive
ain’t unsheathe noble
Ink ronin,
got no master to gallantly serve or valor save
Unworthy pen,
every vile thrust
spilt more scarlet sin upon your Shinto grave
Inscribe your pulse amorality
with a crimson postscript
Follow your vagabond reality
into that inkwell miry pit
True patience means bearing the unbearable
Once I
Lived
bushido
At Heart.
Served my lord,
Wielding carbon
And steel
In fidelity.
Cast aside,
I have
No master now.
I will not taste
My blade
Outcast,
I wander the
Rising sun
to know
The Way anew,
And to learn
I again
for the first time.
I
Ronin
Without an empress
A poet's but a ronin
Awaiting his death
Daring monsters to slay him
While searching for his lady
When a body dies there is a split second slackness
and softening in the eyes as the soul leaves the shell
a mutual acceptance by body and that which is beyond
that the partnership has ended
when the soul dies before the body
that which remains is consumed
in anger betrayal confusion loss and abandonment
On my knees looking up through eyes filled with
blood and dirt and the refuse of animals
digging hands clawing the earth like a wounded dog
trying to bury its own heart
I see Him
Death stares smiling back from across a field
of broken harvested silent bamboo stumps
He knows his new pupil will not rest
until he has extracted his heavy toll
I seek I now hunt for my revenge
There is a price in taking another man’s life and
it strikes during the repose of presumed peace
waking screams to the half moon sky jaunted movement startling
calm water reflections deepening self hatred scowling back
in the shining metal reflection of someone I no longer know
A moment to take a man’s life feel his weight fall upon your weapon
His mouth silently open asking the question his eyes have already answered
I alone among thousands with rain washing the sickness and desecration
And pooling deep into my pores the fresh blood that fuels this new ghost
to forever bond to me his untimely ender his teacher
that has not and never will have and answer
for his blue fading eyes
Stone pebbles crush beneath my sandals
All thoughts of passion and desire now quiet
and kept deep within me locked away for now
Duty demands my return
pace quickening
if nothing more than distraction from myself
A return to the warrior once again
Who tramples quick and hard upon this road
as if his feet hate the earth itself
High upon this hill of long grass we sit in repose staring off in the distance
down upon the valley and village of our youth
the sun is setting in the sky and I feel its fading warmth
pushing us toward winter pushing me back toward duty and my destiny
but my dream is now with you at my side and nothing to want or worry
A child runs with purpose against the blowing grasses
This child your child your boy left as a gift and testament from his father
runs quickly into your welcoming arms winded breathing a familiar innocence
out into this undeserving world
the weight of my purse has become burdensome as it presses against
my sword and side I rip it free from my body
this bloodprice bloodmoney I have never had a use for until now
Possibly to do good could justify the price it has cost my conscience
Freely I pass it over to you
As the wind blows between us you know
soon I will be gone
Old age and its wisdom but
mostly luck of the draw one inch to the right
or left of the arrow that kills a comrade beside me
To be just past the flames that explode and incinerate
those unfortunate enough to be in front of me
is luck
pure and simple at the cost of dreams and desires
Narrow piercing painful eyes that have seen so much
and wonder still why those who make war
seldom dress for battle
hindsight if only clearer in my future my present
still sitting here upon weathered rock warmed by years
of summers sun only now can I give reflection
to the tree that sways in the breeze ebbing and flowing
in the wind of my thoughts
past memories a boy with a dream and desire
following the rising sun and daring to imagine
something outside of his world his preordained future
a goal not granted a thought riding on the coattails of
a samurai’s dressings a moment to be more than himself
before fate crashes the dream onto a rock of reality
and a broken man sits down beside a stream
reflecting upon a weathered rock
I have cowered I have crawled I have begged and I have survived
Honor is something that those that do no battle speak of
Shame is something dictated by those who have not survived
I have felt a shame in that which I have done
but also a love in those I have fought beside
a knowing and an understanding that
if you do not stand beside me
you will never be allowed to judge me
I am nearing the endless night and my body
reminds me of it’s torture in a daily vigil
toward reprimand
My adoration of you my love has passed
from heated loins on pillows
to passionate words on parchment
My son the weapons of war
are now wielded in words
I am old yes a gift that I did not deserve
but a treasure I shall take with me
to the next horizon
upon this pebbled road
There is a brotherhood among soldiers
a bond a band a fellowship
that those at battle’s end speak of
I long for its connection, its embrace
Yet here you lay blood bubbling from your lips
as you try to speak to me Beg me for comfort
in your final setting sun
My hand cannot stop the rose petals that burst
from your body with each failing breath.
In our eyes we both know the outcome
But in my heart my secret my truth
I hate the burden you have left the living
In death’s night they come to haunt me
and beg for the years I have stolen
I have denied them existence and still
they plead me to find honor in my own
I have learned to swallow what other men vomit
and push away that which they themselves embrace
I have become the firefly
chasing the light that glows behind me
As a child I dreamed of infinite waves on the ocean
pebbles in the sand that I could summon
and mold and shape to my wishes Dreams
These waves have crashed on the shore of my present
The castles have all washed away
My fathers pride as well as his fathers unquestioned
and now as knife is held to top knot I question respect
Is that not the very same thing that has robbed me of my life
I have been bound to those who have dishonored me
and loved those I have disgraced
In a simple motion the top knot is cut and I am no longer bound
The sun sets and I know now that my days are
no longer in stone My story is no longer the fates to tell
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