"sonnet3" - a response to "Whispers of Poetry"

shadowed nights and opaque days
lift my mind from prickled haze
circled mysteries in these loins
whispered voices from my groin
drown the soul from its inflame
whilst the sword recalls my name
feel his breath unlace my threads
bruising boots commence their tread
sweet surrender on her lips
as her skin becomes unzipped
fall into the other's sound
as their souls begin their bound
unheard music filled the sky
as the nature was to sigh ~

a response to the piece below.
`t. imaan tretchicovmanicova
5dec03

~*~

"Whispers of Poetry"

I am but a Warrior as savage as the
lands I roam. The blood of enemies
and friends mixed in the mud caked
on my boots. My broadsword in my hand,
the blade sharp as a razor's edge,
ready to kill or die as the day
sees fit.

My heart beats the drum of a wild
animal, senses heightened by years
of battle, years of surviving. I
travel the realms between light and
dark, not belonging to either, not
belonging anywhere. I am a Soldier
for the meek yet can become as dark
as the evil that preys upon them.

The storm above me crashes with thunder
as the lightening streaks across the
sky making night become day. The wind
whips around me, its fingers plucking
at my skin like so many hungry vultures
feasting on a bloated carcass.

Within the turbulence of the winds a
small whisper is heard. As I listen,
the whisper beckons me forth. The storm
becoming more violent, beating and
tearing at me as if to stop me from
hearing the quiet voice upon the wind.
As I listen the whispers become words
of poetry.

I push through the forest and bush,
hacking with my sword at the tentacles
of vines as they try to wrap around my
body, pulling at my feet as if to trip
me. Forward, always forward I push in
the direction of the small voice.

Days and nights I travel across oceans,
through deserts and over mountains
until I arrive at a clearing bathed in
moonlight. In the clearing is but a
mere girl sitting on the stump of a
long dead tree.

She is a girl with her hair wild about
her head, a black kimono hugging her body
with a tie loose about her hips. Quietly,
as I watch, her lips move as the whispers
of poetry slip from her mouth to be
carried on the wind.

I stand staring at the wondrous creature
before me. I feel the angry drums in my
chest slowing and becoming still. My
tormented soul becoming peaceful. The
sword becomes a heavy burden in my
hand so I let it drop to the ground.

I walk forward to stand before her.
Looking down I fall into the pools of
her almond shaped eyes. She slowly
stands and gazes through my eyes to
my soul. With a shy smile she wraps
her arms around my neck, lays her head
upon my shoulder and with warm breath
upon my skin she whispers "thank
you for hearing me Master."

for `t. my little habibi
Sahib 28Nov03