You who bore the tattoo,
who bore the blood,
who carried the mark,
who carried the light.

You who could not lay down
because the quest was not yet finished.
You who held the lightning;
you who sang the void.

You who knelt on broken bone
and glass and fire.
You who sacrificed.
You who spent.

You who reached out
to catch you knew not what,
only that it must be done.
You who had faith.

You who stood fast.
You who ate of the bitter fruit,
and knew it was good,
and knew it was yours.

You who bared your teeth,
naked and bestial,
daring All
to fight you.

I know you;
I name you —
without word,
without sound.

rest now;

for your fight will be long
and painful,
and you must gather all your strength
for the coming storm.

About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
This entry was posted in Love Poems, On Depression, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Servant

  1. rienan says:

    I love the imagery. I also resonate with the rest now, more to come. <3

  2. Lovely, visceral quality.

    “You who ate of the bitter fruit,
    and knew it was good,
    and knew it was yours.”

    Put me in mind of one of my favorites by Stephen Crane:

    In the Desert

    In the desert
    I saw a creature, naked, bestial,
    Who, squatting upon the ground,
    Held his heart in his hands,
    And ate of it.
    I said, “Is it good, friend?”
    “It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

    “But I like it
    “Because it is bitter,
    “And because it is my heart.”

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