A low droning cry cuts through the morning

still silence shattered by the call to prayer

as the mountains around echo the voice of man

and the vanquished fall to their aching knees

Those who have known the cost of war

the force that dwells across this barren land

and cries out with a voice of moonlight to whoever listens

They shoulder the burden of the sky and beg for more

while beyond them the stars die a slow death

and the breath of retribution floats away

gone to fall upon some new desolation

far from the mountains that echo in the morning

and further still from the pleading voices of the faithful

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Well, I think I’ve reached the end of the book I’ve been working on. I still have miles to go before it’s finished though—there’s probably more than 50 notes along the margins of things I need to go back and change, rearrange, or add in. Now comes the grind!

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Photo by eberhard grossgasteiger from Pexels