Oath

And yet I still, now I've had my fill,
And love and joy have gone,
Carve deep upon my soul's wall
An oath to carry on.
Life will tear me asunder
Too many times to count,
But the more I hurt, the higher I crawl
'Pon this, my shattered mount.
Friends have kept me standing
When to stand I know not how,
But while friends of light hold me upright,
Dark foes, 'gainst me, make vow.
As if, like so many, I'm worth battles' blood
As though many give life for me.
And though tis through my vision blurred
I'm taught anew to see.
To see or glimpse the smallest part
Of what my soul's made of.
While near all my heart is cold
I feel a glimmering of love.
Perhaps I have not died inside
Maybe my heart still beats.
Maybe twill be a happy thing
When love again I meet.
Till then I'll struggle up my mount.
Once at the top, I'll stay.
Whatever comes tomorrow
I've kept my oath, today.

beatingheart2

Always

And so I answer, "It was worth it, though the fire's burned my soul.
The storm has left my body bruised, with cuts and even holes.
A pure heart, through poor choices, is now sullied to its core.
None of these are factors that I ever can ignore.
I have treated my wondrous, creating mind
As a receptacle for naught.
And yet, I find within my hands
The things for which I've sought."
The advent of growth.
Deep nature's change.
A broadening view of
Perspective's range.
I answer twice, "Twas worth it. By the fire I have learned.
In the storm I found my strength.
A weathered heart can now discern.
Tis by the storm and fire, I find what's ever true-
There is someone of worth equal to me-
It's you.
We've walked, and tripped, and fallen
And through mistakes we've made,
We learn to build a refuge
Getting stronger every day.
Since through the storm, the fire,
I get to where I'm going to,
Walking through them, I know,
Is one thing I will always do."

beatingheart2

An Inn Called See

Now, again, I search for a glance
At the full meaning behind the strong stance
Of the warrior seated opposite me
At an oak table, in an inn called See.

Only three pain-laced words- "We must talk"
Had escaped the lips of this muscle-bound rock.
As we sit down, while I now wait for more,
There stirs great foreboding deep in my core.

Clothed in brown leather that once could stay blade,
There lives in his spirit a tale long delayed.
I sense, by a bard's art, oceans of hurt
Hidden behind that frayed leather shirt.

Much has been learned with a studious glance,
But I wish him to speak it. He must have the chance
To make bright the dark, to open the cage
Once made of his heart in a long- past age.

"You've wandered," he says. "So far from home.
"Yet farther than you, your words have roamed.
"I had much in my land but have walked away.
"I've traveled far to get here today."

The innkeeper, carrying drink and food,
Comes to our table in lighthearted mood.
Perhaps sensing the gravity that our eyes show
He sets the meal down, and silently goes.

Words are pointed.  I want not to speak.
I have no answer; an excuse would feel weak.
With warrior's words he's so boldly spoken,
Wounds' remembrance has burned and awoken.

Wounds that I've given, wounds I took,
Wounds by which all eternity shook.
You, Reader, have your own pain.
Perhaps your struggles have turned to your gain.

Maybe you're glad for what has been done,
But surely you've lost things preciously won.
What would you say?  What would you do
If such words of weight were spoken to you?

They'd reached in and touched a well-weathered heart.
No self-willed strength gave my tongue the start,
But feeling that silence must not win the day
I opened my mouth, and spoke anyway.

"What do you want of me?" My words come out clear.
They are words of a poet; words bought dear.
The words of one who bears soul-stain
That oft leave deep marks, and cause great pain.

I'd once left my family; pain begged me depart.
Wandering tribes took me in, soothed my heart
With words of their own, and acts good and kind.
But a home that I'd sought, ne'er did I find.

From the well of emotion built in that state,
I spoke things that made lovers feel hate.
Other souls, broken, found themselves newly mended
When to their aid my words I'd extended.

The warrior so tense, seated opposite me
Watches my face very carefully.
Somehow my words had reached his home
And now, much like me, he feels he must roam

"Your words, O Bard," he says very slow.
"They changed my whole life, and forced me to go
"Where I thought I could not.  Twas what I feared.
"But by your words my pathway has cleared."

"I know of your kin, I know of their wants.
"Your departure and absence... their memory haunts
"Them, for what has been done to your family.
"Will you go? You are needed. Can't you see?"

The warrior, whose words in my soul seem to sing,
Sees on my face the buried yearning
I have held for so long.  The ache is too great.
I will return before tis too late.

Then feeling kinship with this warrior across
The table, I, feeling what would be a great loss,
Ask, "Will you come with me?" with tears in my eyes.
He looks at me, silent, in great surprise.

A slow smile spreads.  He nods.  We stand.
And so begins a journey unplanned.
Such marvelous tale happened to me
While I sat with the warrior, in
An inn called See.

beatingheart2

Ice Heart

The dawn breaks upon her, her mind is at war,
Seeing so many that she could live for.
Friends and companions ring her around
While foes ahead make a chilling sound.

First starting low, now growing, the chant
Is more than a battle cry, a curse or a rant
Once a sound of love, tis now not the same.
The enemy seeks her.  They are calling her name.

Thousands of friends grip weapons more tight.
T'will be impossible to make them quit the fight.
She has saved each, in time past, from death.
For her they will give their very breath.

Their opponents are strong, fanatically so.
As they start the charge, her tears freely flow.
She knows each foe knows her.  They, too, she once healed.
"Traitor," they think. "Our sister's fate is sealed."

Now her adopted kin lay down their lives
While her true kinship seek her life as prize.
Two sides meet.  The battle is joined.
The Hand That Wrote All flips a great coin.

One side gives victory to those filled with hate
Another lets win those whose love is great.
But coins that are owned by the Hand That Wrote All
Have many more sides than those we'd let fall.

This day, several sides make bare their face
As thousands that fight find themselves touched by grace.
She whose life is fought for today
Can heal one near death, and so let them stay.

Now doing what causes the war that each wages,
She rewrites the history contained in these pages.
Her guard ever round her, she runs to each one
Wounded, hurting, those whose lives are done.

She reaches to each, and by her touch they breathe.
One by one, war-rage ceases to seethe.
Thousands are wounded; it seems not to end.
What ends is the conflict.  Broken things start to mend.

For bones, veins, and muscles are given new starts.
And with them, peace is rekindled in ice-shrouded hearts.
She is a healer, who holds such a gift.
Do you know any like her? They can mend any rift.

Maybe you've thought of, but never have known
A true healer, from birth to now, when you are grown.
You read words of one whose heart is saved.
A lifelong patient of one known as Grace.

The Hand That Wrote All once helped me see
We heal each other; they, you, and me.

beatingheart2

Taught To See

Did the lightning strike upon you,

Split the ground beneath your feet?

Do you grimace with pain of wounds you suffer

Walking barefoot on fallen sleet?

Have you thought at all of quitting

At most bitter time of hurt,

When to one pained even more

You gave your tattered, only shirt?

Did your stumbles find companions

Of others' wretched scorn?

Have you cried yourself to sleep by night

And awoken void of hope each morn?

What would you do for one who cared

Enough to say hello?

Someone who knew pain of their own

And chose towards you to go?

Perhaps so it is and was, 

Perhaps mortal angel, for you, holds breath

While you fight to keep afloat

On a sea of life-or-death.

Can you take a gaze pointed in

And, now, turn it about?

 Can you pour elixir of faith

Into a mind once filled with doubt?

Will you dare to care for another

Who has no more love for life,

When you are scant moments away, yourself,

From collapsing 'neath your strife?

The choice is yours, is mine

Is that of every reasoning one.

Will you quit the winner's race 

When it is so nearly won?

Do you have no love for life
Does hope for chance seem dead,
Or do you feel so brim with life
That you're bound to share your joy instead?
Whichever tale is yours,
On whichever side you stand,
The fence is there for you to cross
And extend a friendly hand.

The hand that writes the words you read
Belongs to one like you,
One who knows of the pain of struggle,
The hardship that we go through.
If none hold out hands for you to grasp
Here is one who does.
I care.  I know just a little
Of the lingering pain that was.

It's been an all-out war
For you and I to survive,
But the war has not destroyed us.
We've found that we are yet alive.
To you who are kind enough
To read such words like these,
Your vision has been amplified.
Your war's taught you to see.

Adam Scott Campbell