Eyes like the shadows,
But with colors of bloodied souls.
They breathe,
Never hallowed.
Like the ones before,
Fallen,
Tears follow them.
Among the pines,
The woodlings whisper,
They descended from a caves early winter.
Voices cry out,
Through canyons will carry,
Enemies will become wary.
To them,
A song will echo,
Waking all the slumbering,
All the shadows.
Forests,
With eyes of the grandmothers,
Rocks,
possessing smiles of the grandfathers.
Spirits hum, never talk,
Their shadows will remain in the warrior's thoughts.
Battle cries to the West,
Sorrowful memories of the North.
The sweet tears of the East,
With storms of the smiling South.
Warriors born free of the mouth of ghosts.
About the Creator
A. Raphael
Poetry is my first love, and writing words onto paper is my therapy. Maybe my submissions will make you feel something, too.
If you find something in my words, then it is my pleasure.
A. Raph
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