The Bookcase - Poetry

A Loss, Long Ago

Sing, human and Wingrider, slow A lament of the long fercor war
Before it reached the mountain ridge Where it would fall in favour
Our sons became battleweary Our daughters dreaded the fight
And the Amalek began his advance Into field and forest heartland
The elders said, with eloquence The stalemate needs slashing open
Were too many warriors dead Or the kingdom's coffers empty?
The unknown urgence was great It reverberated through the races
From the cotton-clad city class Dancing each night to the dulcimer
To people plodding the acres Their wings longingly widespread
To join the jade streaks of air Staining the mountain sky far north
Past any man-hardenend path The fierce dragons of Filendon
Even the faces silvered by sun Nomads normally far and away
Shrouded by desert's sandstorms Mixed with the dirt-streaked deluge
Of worried border-brothers Harassed by raids and rife with hope
Their deliverance had dawned Everyone came to the camp
Where the decision has been dealt Who is it, what happened, whispered
A hero from their midst was hailed The warrior they thought worthy
Who was to bear the burden Of saving the sons of Gerbera
The flower-banner that framed The north in manifold multiplicity
Of land and living creature Such a thing, lost for so long
Never recovering its richness After ongoing obliteration
The wingrider warmen’s saviour It’s said he feared a fall alone
When his wings would melt from the sun “So I’ll fly not too far from you”
A high-flyer he never was hailed Clipped and cut before his time
“Stay near” and “together we stand” He said to his coene companions
And staying side by side in line They marched over the mountains
Where no man managed flight Throught the desolate deserts
To the enemy’s encampment Across the dread divide
Made by a pass between the peaks The access to the Amalekies
Before they could cross, a light Of friendship flashed in the night
Their allies’ army had also come To die breast to breast in battle
To fall tired toe to toe if they Should encounter their end here
The commander of the Queen The defender of the Dahlia
Greeted the Gerbera gratefully “We stop here for our last stand”
She said, the fairest fighter of all The cousin of the ruling Queen
Of the green grasslands of the south The fighter from the northern forests
Greeted her graciously and said “Ours also is a final fending off
Of the atrocious Amalek Before he takes our treasures
And sits in my uncle’s seat The throne of the courageous king
That stood strongly all this time” They shared a common candour
So she said a wise woman’s words “The matriarch of all the mothers
Our kingdom could contain Has ordered me to overcome
The tyrant and his total train Of murderous machine-men”
They turned together to this cause Four thousand fighters in all
In a time when all the world's troubles Had not yet incarcerated innocence
When every man could wed a wife And every woman owned ways
She could not cover in a day So many fields some lay fallow
Every family had father and mother Teaching them road and house trades
To the preservation of their people Had these men and women come here
That a miracle migh have happened! The death-beasts their companions
The wolf wailed ever closer And the hawks hung in the sky
Then the allies’ armies joined Their spear and sword held high
The challengers charged forward Defying their coming defeat
Their shields flashed in the sunlight As the bombs bashed the first line
Of wingriders flying and falling And the humans running, ripped
Apart by a force far too strong For these flesh-clothed fighters
Trying to turn the rising tide Of the man-eating machines
That could colonise minds And strangle spirits before their time
While the bodies bore onwards Forwards, faces empty of fercor
The wisely-chosen warrior Fell first, in the lead of the line
Of his coene companions, falling Staring upwards at the sun
His wings wide in the whirling wind Into the blood-soiled sand, dead
And the cousin of the Dahlia-queen Bit into a bronze-dipped shield
Never to cry at the cruel cut That finally felled the fairest
Their armies' aim was lost with them And they fled from the hopeless fight
Leaders lost they were hunted Meat to feed the machines
In their heinous hunger to go Onwards, conquering completely
King up North and Queen down South No defense against their deadly fates
Now their warriors lay wingless Soulless in the face of the sun
Never to be buried by bereaved Or grieved over in their graves
Sigh for them, and sing this song Lament those who let their lives
Let this be burial and grave For the lost fercor fighters

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A Loss, Long Ago