Red White

You are not the cold seed you fear in your nightmares,
not a blind thought, caressing the cloak of the reaper.
As you have gazed at the trees at night, so too 
have the creatures in the leaves gazed back at you.

‘We do not worship the dead’ they cried, laughing,
and an echo flows past you, barely heard.

Should you join the ranks of the spirits,
crying out your regret in a vain attempt to be heard?
‘You must rebel against yourself’ the creatures warn,
curious what you will do next.

You search for a soft spot within your own self, but 
what is there to feel? The wind, the barrenness?

A light flashes with searing pain in your eyes.
Lightning, followed by fire, and then blank heat.
Nothing left anymore; nothing left to hold onto…
but only if you can reach out, you will find a hand.

Well, a multitude of hands, rising from the ground,
covered in scales and feathers, and red as blood.

Voices, voices from beneath the ground,
telling you unbelievable tales of glory, honour,
asking you to grasp their hands and they would show you;
yes, they would show you the way to their own grave.

‘Then the choice is yours’ the creatures tell you now,
‘live or die. We are only eyes waiting for the sun’.

Choices… always a decision to burden you again,
but this is an easy one if you would look inside your mind.
Live or die, walk or fall, strength or tears. Fear is your enemy 
my friend. Invest yourself in my smile, if only for a little while.