Battle

I once saw a battlefield 

with none of the artilleries' din.

It was quiet as a sleeping baby

and mercy was not wished for

at the sharp end of the sword.

But the warriors were a multitude,

each stranded with his own battle before him.

No warrior is a match to the affronted power

and all are in search of the slaying weapon.

Some have chosen 

love,

faith,

will,

but what is secretly given to them all

is a brave face.

Sea

O how guilty it feels 

to choose a favorite out of a 

rippling, exuberant sea

and a quiet, pensive one.

But the sea of my mind,

hiding more questions than answers, 

more doubts than impulse

more tunnels than wide fields,

more me than the world,

that sea is a fire on some days

refusing to quell 

and on other days, 

it is a gentle, cool, insouciant breeze.

And I know not who has the power over it

but I(or Time already has?) am vying for control

to douse the fire.