In dreary days we came

A poem

In dreary days we came
Crawling ashore on our bellies
Coughing up what remained of our innards
Shifting sand with dry tongues
Looking for whatever relief might greet us
     but there was none.
In fields beyond we soaked ourselves in displeasured rains
Trod ourselves through discontented mud
And strangling grasses, knowing
     we were so unwelcome.
But we marched. What few of us could stand
Marched afoot, the rest carried
Dragged or crawled to our destinies in foreign lands
All for glory, for gold, for fame
But none came to the cursed lot
     that we were.
All of us drenched warm in blood
Cooled in the winds upon our skin
     and crusting our clothes.
In sickness still we went
Foolhardy and mad with desire.
I don't recall what we dreamt
But in the dreaming we were lied to
For the dead can't dream
Can't sleep, can't weep, can't hope
For whatever was better times
Was so far from our misfortunes as to be nothing 
     more than shadows alongside us through the forests.
Our mothers that nursed us and our fathers that learned us
Were naught but roots and stones.
We dismissed the messages that bade us return
And so we met with sorrows, draped in sweet
Lust, shrouded in the mist of our perspiring
     so thick.
But here we came, what few of us in fever still remained
Steel held aloft or at our sides
And none of us imagined a better course
Blinded by misery.

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This poem was written while I was stuck working on a fantasy manuscript. I would write a few lines at a time, go back to my other project, and write some more when I was stuck again. Sometimes that’s what I need to keep the juices flowing. Plus, I was reading a bit of Clark Ashton Smith and other Weird Tales poets.

Occasionally the poems wound up getting inserted into the work, but this one didn’t quite fit, theme-wise—but I thought it was still worth sharing.

As I draft more of that manuscript, I’ll likely churn out more poetry alongside it, and I’ll be posting them here.

Comments and critique welcome.