Returned

He forced it on himself, like prejudice
Year by year it came
Strong and bitter
Never sweeter
When enjoined to pain
Can the Vikings do it?
A cold Germanic horde
Force a king to do it
Cut down Damocles sword
But love is never finer
Bleeding forcefully
And life is never truer
Down upon the knees
Lie, you knew your Keeper
Knew himself a fraud
Forced his heart to buckle
And brought him back to God.

poem by Derrick Puente
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The Light Made Of Stone

There in the Spring causality struck
There in the virgin glory
Fumbling rains masked the sun
Until the vessels emptied
This summers dog-days, infernal fray
Slow and abounding in whispers
What can I learn, for what I yearned
Drove itself towards these dunes

Telling the winds I was a storm
Whose clouds have dissipated
In the cool eve, you've scolded the Spring
And taught me discrimination
Your tongue wrung like the sluggish sun
Unveiling those secret wounds
Yet Autumn is here, in some humble seed
To save me from your pelting glory.

poem by Derrick Puente
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The Heart of the Warrior

With vision trapped in honey and ashes in the mouth
Journey's always end, pointing artic south
Beginning with a footstep made on unsure ground
It only took a mile to find our two feet bound
Resistance, such a weapon, is a warriors' excuse
Bit it shall be worn down and made of little use
The windows to the soul, they drip honey from their wells
And ashes is the mouth, testify the journey's failed
The spirit battered is a cloud begging imagination to mold
Though we failed the mission, we must fight against the cold
With hands that shake and shiver, from the freeze, from the pain
Faces devoid of color, and live now all but drained
Where is the mighty zeal that begat the warrior way?
I tell you it is somewhere, lost amongst the fray
The generals of industry know the soldiers' fortune can't endure,
If they are made to fight another cowards war
And we were like the wolves whose honey eyes are honey soaked
The ashes in out mouth shall tie the noose form freedoms rope
On the ground in front of us I see blood form wounded knees
But there shall be no master to hear our calls for peace

[...] Read more

poem by Derrick Puente
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