The Requiem and Potential Rebirth upon Preparation's Stage

Before action, comes reflection
upon each question yet to come

Flowing shades of random heights
distill the directions of this future's plight.

protesting or in affirmation, of the shape of space yet to foil


The buildup is the monster we must
slay, nerves, multiplying and thusly spawning

the angst of an evenings slumber lacking assembly,
where true sleep, can be snared by the nightmares net,

As caution's imbalanced by our demons flesh and frame,
for with anticipation, doubt and it's distress are certain to claim

the seeded revelations lost to our many tracts of unplowed soil


Rigid breaths quickly fill, spurring forth the weathered lung,
tepidly pacing each inhalant razed, as exhaled words expunge

rapid measures stirred within, beleaguering conditions born unto
accepted frames of clouded hue, dyeing calmness the colors needed to

foster growth within ourselves, for without, we cannot speak,
and tightly skewered life unglues, severing self upon fate's peak,

where crags punctuate the twisting paths of acmes coil


The quivering moves that make the bow,
unsteadying an aim that's hindered slow

The bass-less voice becomes the arrow, engrained
fears bite down, into a loveless marrow deeply strained

Sautéing respite blind and braised, tunneling cruel
the archer's sight, where a shivered imbalance sets to duel

An internal storm, preceded by its tolling gale,
thoughts breed altered, fingers twinge as pallor pales

the force one pursued, casting frost upon dominion's toil


The student waits in painful pause,
the teacher blames the lies crafted by applause

riddling the jester with glances, heckling forth gestures,
serving the accomplice alone, abetting stagnation and each its slurs,

Our hero swoons in abandonment, staring long unto frozen seas,
bearing witness to the deadliest of dreams


But onward he must, recapturing a light long since dark
Out of practice, out of sorts, yet still he must embark,

over this dirty forge, where each misstep further roils


First scanning through the banks of thought,
seeking that something that's since been lost

bursting forth, the epiphany swallows
allowing preparation a rebirth hallowed

With sword in hand, shield concealing the right
Shining in his armor, he basks aglow, treading toward this light

The words arrive, one and all, he listens, he knows, he now can tell
the truth, the way, to vanquish forever, this darkened spell


The message lines his thoughts.  The wisdom is his power.
Each distance grows close and near.  He is upon the final hour.


Stage's all set, the curtain sprawls, the cast is prepped and true
Our hero lives here internal, reliving all the choices he needs to

Slowly he alters shape, into a hero filled with ire and consumed by rage
and yet, he understands, that if fright should set upon the stage

all will be as well can be, for a society such as this
it's simply a case of dues unpaid, to transform the drama into a comedy

as we know, the world loves a train wreck just as loyally


Over at D'Verse, Mary offers us the notion of preparation for this week's Poetics.  Stop on over, read her excellent article and then stop on by each poet's site for their response.  Most likely you'll find yourself inspired and prepared, to compose a piece of your own.  Once you do, link it up and share it with all the other poets at D'verse.