Tuesday, November 6, 2018

Rhythm of the Southern Chimes

The broken hymn,
Rippling through the time,
Splitting across, solace it seeks.
Solace it offers.

The goddess of war,
With her risen swords,
Saint in her own right, stained with blood,
Blood she offers.

The southern wind chimes,
Hymns of the forgotten souls,
Waiting by the gates of heaven,
Should they fall, should they raise.

The echoes of the lost shores,
Waves of the hidden peace,
Crisp with sounds of a new borns' cries,
She raises, a mother of two.

The birth was a pain, she recalls,
The war gave birth to death,
Blood stained cloths she cleans,
Humming to rhythm of the Southern chimes.