Sour Land. (Shakes off Rust)
Sour Land
There is a place, a lonely place, where few have ever walked,
Where the grass grew green, and the buds blossomed soft
Many were those frightened by its dreadful twists and turns,
Animals; from squirrels, deer, to bears, watched the burrows burn
Barren fields, blighted trees, great scars upon this wounded land,
Tall hills became mirages to man, then appeared ruined and bland
Dark and lonely, cloaked in shadow were its valleys and hills,
The grass coated in dew, was moist after the breeze became shrill
The slight stature hiding a core of tempered steel, dared the wastes,
Poisonous gases flooded the fields, spoiled fruits of their tastes
Neither its master nor servant, she channelled the hell of ghosts,
While they sit and stared the light, waiting for self-approach
Cold was the battle she fought against the demons of shadow,
They fell through the glistening creeks, though the water was shallow
Charging them to relinquish their hold, to stop poisoning the land,
With a sharp branch in hand we swing, until their skin expands
The earth, so long bound in winter, yearned for the blush of spring,
The ice was so bleak, I couldn't stomach the reeking sting
From each shadow and recess it stretched forth towards the light,
The more we fight on the soaring sights, takes anger into flight
But sick and grown old was the king, the land sour without him,
In this visitor to an empty hall he saw his long sought salvation.
Like a sailor long cast adrift he grasped the proffered cup and drank,
Deep was the thirst of the king, long had he been forced to fast from fear,
She was a mirror held up to him in which all past sin was washed away,
In this clear reflection he saw strong timbers beneath the dereliction.
She became the cornerstone on which his house was built anew,
Where the sun began to shine again, and the flowers came to bloom
A sound foundation, level and square, on which to raise him tall,
Then he stumbles off of the pedastal, and waits out the fall..
