Am I struck,
have I been struck
down,
is the temple
sound,
are we free
to kiss the loam,
worship all the mounds
with the bodies
buried underground,
will the lightning burn my flesh
or turn me into that
ozone smell in your breath,
cloying in your nostrils
as you breathe
I swiftly plant the seed,
doubt spreads through your
thoughts, a shrivelled
fool once misbegot,
a blade of steel,
a horse to trot,
and follow me to
the war that's not,
to seek a swift and deadly
foe,
to kill you dead before
you go,
and leave me dying on the field
of broken dreams and
shattered yields.