Dreaming A Watchtower


In ruins where the gallant fought, starred above
The reach of towering walls, enflaming
Spirits, Silence stands; a violet dove
Circles the Moon with lonely cries; feigning
And lying, sparks of Life that ebbed here, die
Again in memories, in stories, told
In various shades of red; all tales lie,
Lie buried in ruins while tales unfold.
Distant, distinct, ahead of where I stand,
A church bell tolls over the barren land.

Namelessly flickering in the abyss
I see a light, like a waving reed, dead
For winds that fathom it not, a soft kiss
On the broken shore, a small light, ahead,
Tinged scarlet, but turning crimson; creatures
Silhouetted against dark nights, flicker
Out of sight; all their commoner features
Thus absent in the darkness, where shiver
Illuminating rays of that small light,
And extinguish slyly out of sight.

Perched on its high walls; like assassins swift
And anonymous, with incoherence
In actions to a coherent whole, lift,
And sink this bless’d city. Magnificence
Is a cost paid in clandestine acts; soft,
And silent are our footfalls, no steps sound
On wet grounds, stalking becomes us; this plot
That I nest on, plots in these walls around,
A shady mystery all draped in red.
A shady history all draped in red.

The wars that sound here speak of honour, dead;
Civility requires we worship shrieks
That courses through these veins; the walls instead
Celebrate deaths of glory, deaths of grief,
Deaths indeed, and all in strife; broken, round,
Fit perhaps to pledge divinity, It
Speaks of wars chivalrous; It makes no sound,
However, in disturbing gore; and fit
Again to rise in the world where it stood;
Thus silently, it proclaims all that it should.

Author: Ayush

I love writing, and this blog serves as a slow growing collection of all my writing endeavours.

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