Winds Of Time Poem by Tyler Marshall

The sand dunes blow amid the winds of time
Its hourglass clock depleting with each stride
Rally the courageous, hardened men beaten into their prime
If not for religious glory, than the fabrication of honor and pride
Languish the puppet master, embroidering our souls to reconcile her mind
Eyes stitched; we wander forth at an esoteric miasma, for the witch has scried

"What rewards hath poisoned thine eyes? "
He speaks within himself, conflicted he blindly complies
Unable to defeat his autocratic ego
With every stroke of his blade, blood paints the canvas
The spray amidst the sand illuminates broken fragments of a wayward wanderer
Memories forgotten; such as we all - fade into ruin
With the ending of a life, it paves the way anew for a conqueror

Tales of luscious triumphs and rewards
We seek delusionary fulfillment in where none lie
Set us free, O wicked martyr; thy mind is abhor
He sees beyond the facade we follow
To die for nothing, our hearts to be swallowed
I know this, yet as his blade strips the life of a child
He finds himself tranquil
Unaware that this endeavor is but a prequel to his deterioration

The screams of every butchered soul pervades his head
and every wretched cry and plea is masked by the clashing of steel
To be fortunate enough to survive the onslaught, only to be plagued of grief until his deathbed
Flaming homes are a painful reminder to each newly bred warrior, molded to carry out their predecessors ideal

Languish the puppet master, for we stand in false deliverance
Cut the threads so deeply pierced within our hearts, for we have failed.