The
Survivor
"In Xanadu did Kubla
Khan
a stately pleasure
dome decree
where Aph the sacred
rive ran
through caverns
measureless to man
down to a sunless
sea."
Samuel Taylor Coolridge
Its mostly desert now
all dried up
dried
up
from the inside out
the
hooves of the Golden Horde
are
only an echo
over
the dusty plains
lifeless
arrows fallen
far
short
of
their marks
no
longer whistle in the wind
and
the Archer trembles
fearful
he can
no
longer
string
the bow
He sits beside
a
patch of damp sand
and
weeps
tears
dried on the cheek
sobs
cracked
in
a dry throat
eyes
closed
that
see no reflection
and
only the dunes
flow
around him
shifting over
the
crumbled walls
of
failed vision
"All
dried up
dried
up
from the inside out"
he
thinks
His
hands sinking
into
the moist sands
where
once a well sprang.
So this is the garden now
This
is the garden
where
enchantment bloomed
This
is the garden
where jasmine grew
And scented the evening air.
This
is the garden
Where passion walked
And this is the pool
Where she
disrobed
This
is the dream
He dreamt each night
This is the
strength
That
strung the bow
This
is the care
That feathered the arrows
This is the only home he knew
It's mostly desert Now
Dry as the
taste of fear
Drier
Dried
from the inside out.
How could this be
How could
all this
All
this promise
Wither
in a lifetime
How could all this
All
this unrealized hope
Die in the womb
Like
a dry fig
Fallen
on barren soil
Seeds
never to break the leathery skin
Never
to be held
In
the lips of desire
Never
to be food
For
life again
How proudly
We marched out
Banners waving
Spirits high
A world to conquer
And conquer we did
Ruthless
And savage
In
our glory
And where is
that glory Now!
Dry as the bones
Of
fallen heroes
Dry as the
shell
Of
a cicada's song
Dry
from the inside out
And the burnished armor
And
steel swords
Discarded
When
they could not protect us
From
hunger and thirst
Discarded
From
the inside out
There
is no one and nothing
To
fight for now
All
the comrades
Are
dead or lost
Wandering
The
trackless wastes
Of
their own forgotten lives
So the
Archer
Alone
sings the song
When we came marching
home at last
At last
When we came marching
home at last
At
last
When we came marching
home
At
lassst
There was no
one
To
greet him
No
one to run
To
the door
When
he swung open the gate
No
one to cover her face
No
threshold to cross
No
one to embrace
This is where
the dream ends
alone in
the moonlight
sitting
by a dry well
old
wounds aching
in
the cold air
This is how it ends
Life undone
by delusions
An
archer with a unstrung bow
and
an empty quiver.