LONE WARRIOR

Night warrior on his greying horse,
With paper armour and a wooden sword.
Lacing his path with a strange perfume,
Of trait, betrayal, shame and pain.

Cowering in the hollow of his soul,
He closes his eyes to all that hurts him,
And imagines the yellow sun pouring on the green fields,
Where Mary plays tossing her golden hair.

The broken skulls and the cackling ghost proffer their stories begging him to listen,
And he runs with his ears covered.
Sobbing, the wind chokes him on the sick sweet smell of blood,
And the wandering souls chastise him for all the pain he caused them.

Oblivion veils him with her evanescing fingers,
His agonised screams are murdered in their cradle by the howling winds.
And as the fire of the past rises to gobble him,
He weeps to save his matchstick dreams from breaking.

Lone warrior left cold in the night.