Black as ink the lake extends.
As still as night it sits.
Low grey clouds obscure the sun.
Colour is reduced, greyness wins.
Its cold tentacles enfold my soul and body.
Its icy fingers enclose my form.
All that moves are the ripples from
the tears as they drip silently into the water.
Silent, expanding ripples as I sit alone on the jetty.
The dawn breaks.
The first rays kiss the tops of the waves.
The waves on the rippled glass that is the sea.
The wooden bow ploughs through this field of water,
that slowly curls over the wood.
The great dragons head eats it’s way through
the mists that veil the land.
We are mobilised, all of us, against a common enemy.
From our mountain retreats we launch against our targets.
They are on the plain that extends before us.
Attacks into blackness.