Rise

 

 

Title art by L.H. Grey

 

they could never hope to keep me down
and believe me they’ve tried
not so easy to run when you’re facing the gun
with both hands and legs tied
beaten to ground
flat refused to stay downed
as the mighty fall hard
while renowned that the mightier rise

 

bullet holes gaping wide
gashes littered my spine
battle scars on my wings
had one prayer left to sing
that of the dying
conclusion foregone
surely way too far gone
to stare back at death
draw a breath
and get down to the unmastered art of defiance

 

no odds in my favor
no rights left to waver
no channel to vent
nor last-ditch attempt
to repent misbehavior
just one kick in the ribs
and a twist in the gut
as all doors were slammed shut
having not made the cut
and been deemed outright failure

 

soaked up every low blow
not through choice but pure diligence
for I found every fractured compound
taught the art of resilience
gained fighter’s mentality
and things then changed ever so drastically
for I soaked up every single last shot
and came back with tenacity

 

not to say there weren’t fears
a few dignified tears
but as i broke down and wept
it all became painlessly clear
i’m no less than a brave
and of saintly descent
defeat not a viable option
less dressed by my former consent

 

’twas the winter of my discontent
however, i had weathered every storm
now the time had arrived to rise from the ashes
assume my new form
these dry eyes so arid
were thermodynamic
while the flames burning bright in the blacks
were no longer sporadic

 

as luck blindly had it
let fate lead the charge
believed both my eyes
sealed them ever so tight
and trusted my heart
it knew just what to do
thus it offered a clue
as one indication
was all i required
to square up to each pain and burst through

 

each attack i deflected
saw line of sight further corrected
as the blood of a brave flows with deepest red truth
and is ever protected
knows only too well how to fall
goes through sheer bloody hell for the cause
but won’t be denied
as we stand firm with pride
with fiercest of fire in the blackest of eyes
no longer snowblind as they glare at the prize
defeated no more we look kindly at skies
kiss and tell
then we bloody well
RISE

 

 

 

 

Richard Charles Stevens

 

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

 

 

 

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