Fatal blow

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Down where the Land defers to the Sea
like the edge of an offered blade,
a channelled ocean flows harnessed yet free
through trenches millennia made.

At the pool of my blood I’m cut to the bone
fractured cliffs rise up to defend,
my heart echoes through chambers forever alone
with a pulse that no steel could end.

Your love is a sword that rusts in the tides
thrust too deep to ever withdraw,
like the Myth of a King who drew it but once
to find himself ever at war.


© Wolfgar 2019

3 thoughts on “Fatal blow

  1. David, since you have asked the question, and I get to choose, I would say that the “love” bestowed here is consciousness. Now that certainly is a love you can’t survive. And given that this poem is placed at the shore, metaphorically a place of transition from one state to another, mortality comes into play – like the Myth of a King – stellar dismount. D

    Liked by 1 person

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