The Plak-tow

                      The Plak-tow
                    A poem by S'Rith 
              The eye of rage burns his soul
              The suns have infused him with fire
              The ways of his world call him strongly
              Whispering the word "Home."
              
              The swollen, iron red sun hangs overhead
              It's sisters hidden away
              The sand radiates heat
              The stones of his land call to him

              The fire which burns and has always burned
              That which none can resist
              That is held in the hearts of all beings
              But not all matter to him now

              The Chosen one
              It is only she who matters
              She calls him, her mind searching, wandering
              He can no longer resist, his resolve is failing

              He steps upon his father's lands
              And prays for guidence with his last coherent thought
              The ways of his world call him strongly
              Whispering the word "Home."

 

Back to Vulcan (I wish)