Creative

The Hooded Figure

Hello,
I’m here to take you away.
Do you see that field? Those mountains? The clouds that hang above?
We will go beyond those things.
Your cheeks are red. Redder than I imagined when I received the word to take you over the river.

When I see you, I see a train I once visited a long time ago
To take many men, women, and children.
The train was a wonder –
It had been constructed with devotion
Admired with wonder and awe.
It powered forward on its maiden voyage,
On the crest of steaming to faraway places,
To drink in the sights of your green and blue wonder.
But the train slipped the moment it reached its cruising speed.
Derailed only moments after leaving the station.

Tragedy is my business, and business is always booming.
But I am an infinite being
And alongside my infinite devotion for crossing the river
I hold an infinite sorrow in the place you call your heart.
And I lament the future that has been painted in crimson on the wall behind you.

Yes, you may weep.
Weep, for you were a better man than those who will remain in this place for a hundred years.
Weep, for your dreams sprang and shone like a pure spring, and they were stolen from you.
Weep, for you never found the love you sought,
You never saw the children you wished so dearly to hold,
And you never had the privilege of wrinkles on your face,
Though I can see that you have miles on your shoes.

It’s okay, you may let go of your rifle.
Here, take my staff, if you must grasp something.

Fear not,
This place is but a warm breath in the winter winds,
And we will carry onward.
There is a cabin I know of
With a warm fire and a soft pillow.

We will go there together
And wait for the others.

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Mic-Mac
Mic-Mac
1 year ago

Knockout! Luke, this is sensational, like a modern-day warrior psalm. It gives comfort to the visualization I imagine from this somber poem.

texj3
texj3
1 year ago

Beautifully done.

Susan B
1 year ago

Valholl. This was beautiful, Luke. It captures the sorrows, and the seriousness, and the solemn honor bestowed on the warrior. Awesome imagery. Thank you.

Susan B
1 year ago
Reply to  Luke Ryan

Like πŸ™‚

Miche
Miche
1 year ago

“We will go there together
And wait for the others.”
Dude, that ending just rips my guts out. <3

Mason
Mason
1 year ago

“Though I can see you have miles on your shoes”, for me, that summarizes many of the qualities of our warrior in the poem. It is like an acknowledgement from Death, that he/she saw more, did more, lived more than many Death will take. My favorite part.

Susan B
1 year ago
Reply to  Mason

Love your take on that.

rynobucket
rynobucket
1 year ago

‘Yes, you may weep.
Weep, for you were a better man than those who will remain in this place for a hundred years.’

It is interesting to read that, as it is very close to what one of my best friends big brothers said when we were mourning his loss as young men. Your sentiment is not lost on me by any stretch.

Well written, Luke.

rynobucket
rynobucket
1 year ago
Reply to  Luke Ryan

I would say the good and the bad die young. I personally feel the strongest impact of losing a shining light too early. I read your comment above about your position on whether or not death is an actual ‘being’. I think the modern take is a confluence of the rider on the ashen horse who’s name was Death, and the Reaper and his sickle who wears a golden crown… so that is interesting, I think anyway.

LD Ryan
LD Ryan
1 year ago

When WW2 was raging I had a deep sadness for young warriors who were killed. Still is an issue in my life. You have captured my emotion. LD Ryan

LPD256
1 year ago

Luke-Two words come to mind…..hauntingly beautiful …….well done.

GsGirl
GsGirl
1 year ago

Your words haunt me. They are so gorgeous…but they have always been. Though he wasn’t a warrior, I wonder the thought that went through my husband’s mind when his car crashed into the tree that suddenly killed him. He knew enough to save our dog from being thrown from the car, as it flipped. Still, I wonder. Thank you for creating this website!!!😍

GsGirl
GsGirl
1 year ago
Reply to  Luke Ryan

My husband was one month shy of 60 years old, when he died. I have always believed in the absolute beauty of your writing. Today, your words give me comfort. God Bless You, Luke! Now, get Alex on this website, and I will find peace.πŸ’œ

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