Poem, Sagas, Scenic, Short story, Weekend

A place.

I once walked there. In the days of carefree youth. In the times I was alone to stare at clouds or stars, to see what shapes would form, or what shapes another had seen.

I felt that grass on my hands and back, between my feet and next to my face as I turned in the warm sun, or toward my warm fire.

I once lay there when nothing else would. When the world was far away and this, my retreat, here stood.

I could close my eyes and know that when I woke, I would still be in the embrace of nature, of sun or star, of grass and wind, and when I woke no harm would come and nothing would be amiss, for here I was alone.

I weep now as I look there, in the place I once walked and lay. For no longer is it that place it once was, no more where one could be carefree and far from eyes and ears.

Taken by those to which it did not belong, befouled by wicked beings who seek victims in havens and fight without honour or word.

I would kill them in an instant, them and those who let this happen, to once again lay safe in this once far away place of my ancestors.

And even though I would be the one named as a monster, I would be a monster who brings and enjoys that peace.


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