Crusader’s Return

This exile –
self-imposed, I confess –
wears thin with age.

Too many winters
braving the cold –
heart’s frozen rebellion
against Father’s tireless raving,
Mother’s queenly submission.

So many moons
engaged in a crusade –
armed with but a hollow sword –
the chill of time lapsed,
irretrievable.

Castle lights are waning,
death lingers in the air,
and only now, on this fateful
periphery, do I wonder –
measure the rage against costs –
blame’s righteousness builds
only walls – faults corpses
rotting either side.

Empty-handed, I approach,
cowed by the enormity of task –
bearing no gifts, no legacy –
only a paltry offering
of forgiveness – pray
I am not too late.

(Image provided by Willow Poetry as her weekly challenge:  What Do You See?  Also linking up with Frank  at the dVerse pub, whose theme tonight is blame and forgiveness.  Ragtag Community’s prompt is fault.)

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37 comments

  1. I love the story of the crusader’s return, bearing no gifts but an offering of forgiveness. I too wonder at the cost of those fights and really like your retelling:

    blame’s righteousness builds
    only walls – faults corpses
    rotting either side.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I enjoyed your poem of the prodigal’s return, V.J., which could be part of a longer epic poem. I want to know what has happened in the years between leaving and returning to the castle. And why the self-imposed exile? What caused Father’s tireless raving? Will the king and queen be forgiving?

    Liked by 1 person

  3. What a poem V. J! I felt it picked from the hills of a war ravaged land. There’s a deeper story beneath this tale. When one has been in war or battle for a cause that slowly becomes shaky and misunderstood, forgiveness is sought with much humility.

    Liked by 1 person

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