Since I haven't written anything else this year yet, I'll start posting poems that I completed in 2009.
The swords have long since married
the spectating leaves far away
beneath that cavalier
amongst the lily-strewn fields of
curved, crushed petals, and the
seasoned aroma of sweet decay.
What honour is there in the fragrance of
guilt-infused tea, when the blackened
leaves no longer emanate their tradition
nor provide a home for the lost
tatami souls? Their waning season
brings grief to fruition, and for months
the sky punishes them with rain,
but no water falls down to cleanse them,
not a drop ripples the harmonious discord,
no flood carries them to quiescence.
The winds of regret crack their armour
and their proud souls escape, superior.
A victory Pyrrhus would be proud of
in a different land, in a different age.
Fearless warriors are born but never killed.