Why Do I Go
There are those who ask me why?
Why do I go to fight fight and maybe die.
For many reasons I answer the call.
Some will understand others not at all.
Because I am a warrior
my given orders I must obey.
To seek and destroy all those
who align with evildoers.
Because of my ideals and values.
Yes I will go I will man the lines.
I will fight because my heart tells me.
I must protect my loved ones.
My loved ones because I cannot bear
perception of their pain
or forever gone from my care.
Yes I must respond.
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poem by Kurt Hearth
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The Duel
Within my arena
we face one another.
He but a mere mortal
no match for my might.
How dare he
offer up challenge?
I am the totality
of chaos and destruction.
I consume all
that mount resistance.
My intensity
is beyond comprehension.
I create pain and devastation.
My roar of glee
mutes all sound but wails
of heartbreak and frustration.
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poem by Kurt Hearth
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Passage
In a great hall
flag draped a coffin stands.
Now at final rest
the great warrior lay.
With rising to setting sun
all through the day.
From every walk of life
his beloved public filed past.
The youngest to the most senior.
Dearest friend to complete stranger
Dignitary to the least known.
All came to bid this one adieu.
Stifled sob an abrupt cough
Sounds of mourning echo.
Shuffling feet passing
A whispered good bye prayer.
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poem by Kurt Hearth
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The End...A Beginning?
The End... A Beginning?
The end...?
Finality a question, summation, premonition.
A state nevermore?
To offer suitable explanation, knowledge or qualifications.
Who might such skills possess?
Scholar, cleric, physician, confidant, Life's companion?
Just who?
The end...?
Is there I ask any definitive arena
this term "The end" reveals?
Must "The end" always reference
sadness or desperation's tears?
Might "The end" be synonymous
with as well, "A beginning"?
Let us consider I submit
another path to journey.
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Touches
How can I touch,
touch my God?
How many ways,
can my God touch me?
How can I see,
see Him with clarity?
How can my God,
in his world see me?
Along the paths I travel,
how can I tell?
My God walks with me?
What sign will He foretell?
When I reach out,
reach out through pain.
Will my God reach down,
take my pain, let me sustain?
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poem by Kurt Hearth
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Pondering Mariner
Beneath golden sun, hanging high,
in endless indigo heaven.
At the water’s edge, shoeless, I meandered.
In wavelets lapping peacefully, on white sand beach.
With slight interest I watched, silent tern,
soar without effort, ‘cross blue expanse.
Into emerald green, of tranquil deep.
Distant horizon melded.
As silent tern glided o’er, dancing, rolling whitecap.
On unseen, sirocco’s flows, my thoughts traveled.
Their course set, to port so far.
To sojourn awhile, with lover pining there.
Remembering her beauty, shining, tearfilled eyes.
Watching her fade, as the wake left behind.
To be messenger, I urge my thoughts.
Convey to her, she longs not in vain.
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poem by Kurt Hearth
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The Climb
From the base I looked aloft.
Majestic, intimidating vastness.
Was I able to muster that courage,
to accept the challenge before me?
Weighing upon my shoulders, as if dead weight.
I felt apprehension bear down.
Surveying the mount, foot to summit.
Echoing voices of companions, waxed dim.
Leering questions I must respond to.
Not, can I succeed an attempt?
Nor, do I possess the required ability?
But, do I retrieve the gauntlet laid before me?
Opportunity has presented itself.
My decision must be forthwith.
With haunting anxiety, I stepped to the face.
I will, dispel fear’s tremulous whispers.
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Ghost
In the tiny hamlet nestled,
at the foot of the castle’s ruin.
Townsfolk relate a legend,
of one ruler, claimed his own prison
When the even’s darkness reigns.
Spirit of the Regent, rises from the tomb.
In the opaque, ebony dark, patrols the bulwarks.
Shield and sword at the ready, specter in the gloom.
What pray tell constitutes, the reason?
Solitary, royal spirit, guards his camp?
A battle they say was waged.
Greedy rulers lusted, to bring this patch ‘neath their stamp.
The King rejected decree to emancipate,
his fair rule of many years.
So in ferocity and violence, battles raged.
‘Til, one day came to pass, his fears.
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Medicine Bag
From the time christened warrior,
‘round his neck, tied by thong.
It like a talisman, mysterious,
the buckskin pouch hung.
As if retaining a secret,
captive, within leather bond.
The warrior cherished the satchel deeply,
for it never left his charge.
Should he ever become troubled,
sought vision of council and wisdom.
With his pouch held to the heavens,
called forth his Spirit Guide.
The warrior gazed into blue skies,
chanting loud his quandary.
Seeking guidance to reveal,
and light the trail to truth.
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To Play the Games
In a special place, in peace they met, they met again.
Far, far from the curse of violence, a place of peace.
Cultivated to propagate comraderie,
Through peaceful competition, garnering good will.
They came to play, from all places, to play the games.
With outstretched hand, they met,
broad warm, warm open smiles.
Renewing memories, they embraced,
light hearts, of past fond rapport.
Renewed friendships, and welcoming new friends.
Shadows of animosity, none to be found.
For the games it was, they came to play.
In contention peaceful, winter, summer,
they would play the games.
In these games, races to be run.
Feats of strength and skill performed.
Team and individual challenges.
Competition always fierce, without question.
Still winners all, losers not accepted.
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poem by Kurt Hearth
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