What’s left of our shredded band.
Forced to flee the motherland.

Same blue peaks from day to day.
Deliberate roll and ‘sembled sway.

Feeling, rhythm, underneath.
Sharpened swords are in the sheath.

World surrounds and fates fulfill.
Scenes changing when they will.

And our dreams in the distance.
Hopeful of a new existence.

Rule what was and serve what’s new,
Payments of the devil’s due.

Brothers, angels of the sword.
Our keepers are not on board.

They have passed underneath.
A tribute, a song, a floating wreath.

On our own we’re not prepared.
Why then have we been spared?

A find, a stead, a new home?
Until then, the seas we roam.

How and what remain questions.
Our way will come by plain intentions.

A regal guide with some wings.
Thought a course she would bring.

But her flight came to pass.
Crossed the scene much too fast.

Growls of clenching empty guts.
Eyes that pray for smoking huts.

Stars and skies pass overhead.
Do they tell ways for we be led?

Tuning soul to pulsing swells.
Pondering the varied smells.

Upon this harmonic flow.
Rhythm points the way to go.

Sand and green, an end, a coast.
Fulfilled truth told us by ghosts.

Our demons, myths, and our wraith.
Moved by wind and will and faith.
© 2020 TheRememberings Ltd.