DEIMOS
the fire can't touch me
for I have burned too many times
for I have burned too many times
Solace came in the form of slashing steel and blades, in the consolation of warrior refrains and habitual stances. Convictions, promises, vows he’d made months and seasons before gave prowess in his rituals of watching, of witnessing, of marking and chiseling his path through the guards’, prospering instruction, unfolding and unfurling his own machinations, the sting of warrior predilections soothing whatever ailed the breadth of his shoulders or the walls in his chest.
For today’s nuances, they were assailing the climbing wall. He’d already fitted new ropes, the notions of Kiada’s fall coming to mind, and several others had clambered onward and upward. The earth had been re-assessed, evaluated, and strengthened, so the ice and snow wouldn’t give way – appreciating these figments for another piece, for another method of training. It couldn’t be the same each and every time – the guards would grow restless, slung into doldrums, a mind slowed down and labored. So he brought his hand upwards, shielding his eyes from the rays of sunlight (content to see it, truly), in order to survey them closer from below.
Some scurried, fast and swift and sure. Others notched their feet further into the footholds and gripped as if their lives depended on it. Some were triumphant, booming and bellowing from the top, and others breathed sighs of relief when they finally climbed and clambered to the top. And all of it brought him contentment – from the surge of success, from the rally of one another. Peace, in between the onslaughts.
For today’s nuances, they were assailing the climbing wall. He’d already fitted new ropes, the notions of Kiada’s fall coming to mind, and several others had clambered onward and upward. The earth had been re-assessed, evaluated, and strengthened, so the ice and snow wouldn’t give way – appreciating these figments for another piece, for another method of training. It couldn’t be the same each and every time – the guards would grow restless, slung into doldrums, a mind slowed down and labored. So he brought his hand upwards, shielding his eyes from the rays of sunlight (content to see it, truly), in order to survey them closer from below.
Some scurried, fast and swift and sure. Others notched their feet further into the footholds and gripped as if their lives depended on it. Some were triumphant, booming and bellowing from the top, and others breathed sighs of relief when they finally climbed and clambered to the top. And all of it brought him contentment – from the surge of success, from the rally of one another. Peace, in between the onslaughts.
the sea can't harm me
for I have been drowning all my life
for I have been drowning all my life
