Warriors Grace

A battlefield.
Blood and fire.
The dead linger.
Looking at the remaining two.
An austere audience.
They watch the two dancers.
Weilding their blades.
A white one. A black one.
A deadly dance.
Unnerving grace.
The beauty of the blades.
Each strike sounds like glass breaking.
The blades screaming at each other.
Sparks fly.
The earth shudders beneath their feet.
The water surges.
The sky is ripped apart.
The stars. The moon. The sun.
They watch with grief in thier eyes.
Violence.
No animals are left.
No a blade of grass sways.
Its as if time itself has stopped.
Every eye in the universe is on them.
The dancers move.
Circle each other.
They pause.
Sweat and sorrow.
They were brothers.
They were allies.
They were one.
No more.
They begin again.
A never-ending dance.
They use their props with grace.
The audience waches.
Waiting for that time.
When they can have their revenge.

By Leon

The Theatre

I look at the stage.

Bare. Empty.

No colour. No music.

The theatre.

The seats.

All dusty for years of neglect.

The curtains are torn.

Cobwebs. Everywhere.

They hug the blackened statues.

Caress the ceiling.

Beautiful glass windows.

Shattered.

The spotlight.

The light that once shone.

On a masquerade. A party. A lovers kiss. A death.

Scenes of dancers.

Ballets. Duets. Songs. Poems.

A light that has seen a thousand years.

No more.

I weep.

I weep for the theatre.

For every person who has come through the doors.

Women in dresses and men in suits.

All forget the theatre.

I sit on the steps of the condemned building.

The ruin of architecture.

It was once grand.

No more.

By Leon

At The End Of Everything

Walls are coming down around me.
My safety.
My rules.
My comforts.
My lovers.
My life, comes crashing down around me.
All the lines have been crossed.
Every barrier is broken.
I feel everything.
Pain. Sorrow. Grief. Suffering.
All at once.
Like a sharpened knife in an assasins hand.
After each stab. The knife smiles.
Its doing its job.
Then I hear the sound.
The sound of waves.
Washing away everything.
No debris.
Nothing.

Im on a cliff.
I see the ocean.
Taking away everything.
Making me new.
A clean slate.

I feel safe.

Somehow.

I feel like nothing can touch me.

I feel light.

Lighter than air.

Someone keeps me safe.

I know im safe.

Somehow im safe.

I look up.

I see the sky.

Rainbows and clouds.

A sunset of mirages and colours.

His voice says that he'll look after me.

I smile.

I'm safe.

In his arms.

Im safe.

By Leon

Hope

Well, its our "Independance" Day again.

What a joyous occasion.

Its like a party.

Racial discrimination, jealousy and anger are dancing on the floor.

In the corner of the room joy and unity are drunk and passed out.

Hope wasn't invited.

Fear is the theme for the night.

Injustice is the host.

Friends are pulled apart by the music of the night.

Lovers fight, hate laughs.

Grey skies block the bright sunshine.

the lights dim, out comes an iron pot.

Inside, water boils.

All goodness screams with pain, evil grins.

Everything ends with a thunderous roar.

The mighty, the good, the pious, all become silent.

The night is owned.

There is no sound.

No laughing, no joy, no peace.

No beauty.

The only sound is crying.

Somewhere in the ink-black night.

There is still one streetlight lit.

A child.

A child under it.

Crying.

All around him, forces are brewing.

But they do not pass into the light.

The child is safe for the moment.

The child sobs.

Sobs for everything that has passed.

He sobs for the wars, the deaths, the innocence taken.

The child.

No older than 4.

With skinned knees and broken fingers.

Broken.

Evil smiles. Shows his teeth.

He laughs. Fire in his mouth.

But the child is safe.

Safe in the light.

The child has a name.

Hope.

by Leon