Truth is a riddle tied up in knots

upon a jeweled saber hilt

a daunting crusade

a personal legend lost and found

once built in blows made sure below the bearer’s shaking hand

an anvil tempering

a first and last submission to command

in pledging ones’ most solemn oath

a heart and home allegiance to the death and life and hope

a sacrifice and gift of will, a life breath’s courage

and better yet the aged crockery

Valued only in gratitude assigned by wisdom

for turning and applying mercy’s buttery salve

not just for spilling blood for justice sake

behind a wake of guilt and sorrow


The mind reels


It hides behind a pained smile

And yet, there lies the wounded, scarred

and double edged prefect

the tongue, a fledgling on the run

the hands and feet, two clumsy footmen

tenderly laid waste upon the rusting sage chinked chainmail

S-words………were not so…….smart


Oh, had we been more careful

the death field may not have come to crimson poppies

instead a rich warm compost stiring


and songs sung sweet to life and fife upon a summer blanket

spread here in delicacy and youthful laughter

full flavored cheese and vino

now tribute to a  fallen soldier

sold here,  repeated tours and ticketmaster usherings

campaigns, accountings

recounted  in disgruntling

fairytales nenamed for taking flight

the swallowtales

of once upon a flutter bedtime,

byways are stories lost to aging children

tossed aside

as bloodied weapon’s waged on all but one

lies pride

among the least of these

and so, the mighty prey upon the praying

pronouncing judgement lots and squeeze chutes

Why can’t we think for ourselves in donning different thought

and turning cheeks and hearts

here in the silaged feed lot?

to listening more toward the subtle whispered upstarts?

The whistling wind says, “I’ll make you fishers.”

What would we think and say of

truth then

in setting new white sails?

In burrying swords and shields and raising Saviors

In leaving nets behind and following


if hands and hearts were pure

if love were written on the soul with this same

cross pen?

We’d suffer little chidren to come again, again

likes smiles of sunshine

We’d write the message of our souls,

“Have courage, and be kind.”




About hrobertson2013

“Each man ( and mermaid) will be like a shelter from the wind and a refuge from the storm, like streams of water in the desert and the shadow of a great rock in a thirsty land”. Isa 32:2 NIV Warning: The author of this blog is not an ordinary individual. Even Mermaids need a rest from all that's real and grown up. Welcome to the wonder of blog. Come be audience to all that's wet and wild in her stories, poems and thoughts. Instructor by day, super hero by night, and mystical mermaid by summer. Whenever she has the fortune of diving into a pond, reservoir, or mountain waterfall, you'll find her there swimming, and singing songs of life.
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