He was my Rock

Many years of churning, the earth compressing
I created him, strengthened him, cloaked him
With all my elements,
He was my Rock.

I cradled him through the storm, the piercing sun
The ruthless wind that would try to erode him,
He was my Rock.

He would lie dormant, yet penetrating
Powerful silence with surface gleaming, his depth
Endless,
He was my Rock.

Hungry fingers chipped through his armour,
He was cold and empty, in their eyes only,
But I knew the sadness, his silence,
His pride,
He was my Rock.

Days and nights of endless passion,
Thawed through my creation, layer after layer,
As he was exposed, his soul in shreds,
Through continuous labour,
He was my Rock.

His silence did not end as his pride remained,
They removed his armour, laid bare his heart,
With every effort to patronise,
Humiliate,
He was my Rock.

With months devoured, his remains were left,
A horse it was, unveiled from his
Nakedness, labour expressed through creative eyes,
He was my horse.

His pride had been crumbled by heartless
Limbs at work, his nostrils flared,
Eyes petruding, no linger silent,
He was my horse.

And there he stood, my creation stripped
Of all his dignity, his heart and in its place
An angry horse, his soul trapped
Inside this new body

He was my Rock.




[by me]

This piece is dedicated to all the men who were and are the victims of innocent bloodshed, of unjustifiable war, and the horror of colonialism; the brothers who could not protect their sisters from being taken away by foreign soldiers, the husbands who could not protect their wives from rape, the fathers who could not protect their children from the cold blooded consequences of foreign policy, the sons who could not prevent the death of their mothers in the hands of strangers and the lovers who lost their love in the plight of war and are left in a state of unrequited misery. These men are no longer the men they were a once upon a time ago.

this is fantastically awesome!