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Student Write Up - Blog Posts
"To nurture is to grow, and to grow is to conquer."
The following poem is a tribute to my parents, who have worked to the bone for my sister and I, who have loved us and made us capable enough to make our decisions, making us the people we are today...
Mid-day Memories
Like sentenials they stand, like palisades they preserve,
No wound the barbarous realm causes them, they deserve.
They fight for our rights, for my sister and I,
They fight for our future, so that no-one can deny.
She sits through the ephemeral daylight hours, she sits deep in thought,
Worrying for our battles, many gray hair which have brought.
Like gentle whispers of gales that thread the mellow fields,
Her hands, they soothe the cracks that materialize at the confidence we refuse to yield.
The path he voyages invites many a foe,
To heal he journeys, to dispel all woe.
Like the midnight moon, he stays awake,
Enduring all the afflictions for our sake.
Like the wolves that howl at the plenilune,
He plays for us his sweetest tune.
They sit alongside till our sorrows fade,
Stories they spin together to distract, endlessly cascade.
Sings tirelessly each note the way a nightingale,
They mould us for the world, guide us in the way for the sightless, the brail.
The Unsung Heroes
He lifts on his shoulders,
The weight of all our sins.
He does not know where his journey began,
Nor how it would end.
He wraps his arms around his sister,
He lifts her off the ground.
Promising to return safely.
A silent wish to which he felt bound.
He kisses his mother's wrinkled forehead,
Cherishing each moment,
Like an extraordinary treasure,
He had just found.
For, far away he would be,
From his family's loving embrace.
Staring at the snow-capped hills,
Or the depths of the sea.
He thinks aloud on peaceful nights,
When the winds lull him to sleep.
'Honor I'll bring to my mother,
The promise to my sister, I'll keep.'
A broken promise, an open wound,
He lies on the ground.
The sanguine hue of his blood,
Cakes the mud around.
I pray for those who stay awake,
In the darkest hours of the night.
Who live and fight for our sake,
Regardless the pain and the plight.
The silence cries, it cries for them,
Those who left behind their names.
A soldier dies, he dies condemned,
Becoming a distant face in a wooden frame.
His sister asks why her brother,
Was mercilessly slain.
His mother's screams echo,
As she screams in disdain.
Heavy breathing, bloodshot eyes,
Where did they go wrong?
Clutching his badge to their chests.
Walking on their own.
After the war, he didn't return,
And they were left alone.
Oh, mighty warrior, our fearless protector,
Never were you wrong.
In the hearts of those who love you,
Always will you belong.
The Demiurge of Destiny
The silence seeps out of the earth and into her bones.
The darkness creeps, it creeps close and into her soul.
She stands still, unyielding but nonetheless alone.
Her strength comes from those who live down below.
Living in an idyllic fantasy, free from any woe.
As she lifts with her petite hand, the shield to palisade,
The mephistophelian misery that obscures their fate.
She receives no recognition, for in history she has never been portrayed.
She adorns no gowns, no ornaments present in her locks that cascade.
Yet, her eyes they hide behind the vizard as she attends the ephemeral masquerade.
To watch her principles, to keep them safe.
The fires burn bright inside the ostentatious room.
Yet, in her veins, the cold blood morbidly looms.
She makes herself unobtrusive to the human eye.
As she stares at the cacodemon, its flesh charred and dry.
They battle fierce and they battle fast.
Each time they clash, one of them nearly falling apart.
Both fought the other trying to outlast.
The hellion sneers and questions her act, it taunts her, it taunts the people behind her back.
'You fight for them? These people there?
Who burnt your home without care?
Who turned the forests dark with despair?
Who'd agonize in the hurt ne'er?'
She inhales closing the apertures of sight,
Her heart in agony, her mind in plight.
Yet, her body stands, it stands to defend,
Staring at the demon she wills to rend.
'It matters not what my heart decides,
It matters not if the rivers run dry.
Gods are gods till the men decide.
And for these men, I shall lay down my life.'
The night dawns as she enters her hearthstone.
Blood trickles from her side as she suppresses a groan.
Shadows that loom chilling her down to the bone.
Fatigued and weary as she looks at the moon that shone.
She fights her battles, she sits on her throne.
She looks after the humans like they're young saplings she had sown.
She looks out to the horizon and into the unknown.
Shield in her hands, protecting on her own.