Walking in a dream

You crossed the bridge
For I razed the fort
There it lies shredded on your path
You're walking
Walking in a dream

You were in a dream and I did not see
From afar I did not know
Far across the bridge I could not see
One in a dream
Two can't happen

You had crossed
The fort
Standing that I may sleep
It lies shredded on your path
And there you saw me in your wake, among the shreds, walking in a dream

One in a dream
Two can't happen

A poem written back in high school

To Abigail

I'm from..

I'm from sheathed swords, shattered spears and the slight breeze felt by the swath of scythes, not of battles lost and won, pyrrhic victories and hasty retreats, but the unheard army that trudges secretly, silently, dark horses as cavalry, lithe shadows as hoplites and very little known. I'm from the great salient, crushing forth, being crushed and rising again.

I'm from the echo of waterfalls, ambience of mists, fogs insidious with treachery, of fallen leaves- answering a traveller's shallow hoof, an uttered susurrus through the forests, casting winds high and low.

I'm from those gathered unseen, rustling unheard, of camaraderie never forgotten, living or dying, of loyalty thicker than blood and of spirit warriors past and present.

From advocates of chivalry and arbitrators of unheeded woe.

From possessors of kukri blades never banished.

From iron rods withheld.

I'm from vehemence soon to come; a torment. Tremors of sound without sight, moving through darkness as light, vaguely known, forces of upper echelons that fight the blight.

I'm from what was and still is fought for, cousins and friends and brothers and sisters of whispered prayers that alter the mighty currents.