Ronin

A thousand times I have sinned, and I seek for redemption.

As I don the white robe of the servant

And tie the Crimson sash about my waist,

As I wear the blessed cross my tainted hands

Are unworthy to feel;

A penitent tangent to the Church

As I approach the alter, bearing the poled cross

A great ceremonial naginanta in my hands,

The eyes of Christ

Gaze upon me and my brethren

With sorrow for our sins; disloyalty

My heart burdened with shame

As we progress in through the mass,

Our actions are done in itself;

In slow deliberation,

In serenity and peace of sanctity

As the incantations are offered,

As flesh and blood are blessed,

Our hearts and voices soar as one,

freeing our minds for reflection,

I pray for forgiveness,

I chant for peace,

That my Lord should teach me virtue,

That I should serve Him as I should;

That I give and not count the cost,

That I fight and not heed my wounds,

That I should toil and not seek rest,

To Labor and seek not reward,

But knowing that I serve his most Holy will

Yet I am but wayward man,

Made of love, yet tainted by sin,

Darkness finds its way

***

As I don the robes of the scholar,

Simple and smart,

Paring my pen and pencil,

by my side,

Chanting Morning prayers,

I don my ever present rings of steel,

Reminders in their own right

My round lover's ring,

Adorned with a single crystal

For the virtue of earnest passion,

A ring of three layers,

In semblance of ethereal presence;

The base, the mid-segment and blunt point,

For the blessing of fervor,

Supplemented by memory,

A flat band with two copper cells,

On a silver back,

A dark ring fourth, worn only in grim,

And a thick ring of knights,

For duty

I partake in my Monday ceremony,

My hands move from under me,

As milk is gently frothed,

And Coffee ground to fine dust,

Even above the sounds of thunder,

Trying in earnest to drown my anxiety

My heart is heavy with emptiness

As black, viscous liquid oozes before me

As I set my heart in its temporary place

and consume the necessary poisons,

I yet again partake in the ceremony of class

As time goes on, it slows before me,

Comrade scholars scurry to class,

Lover's sweet nothings

Pass between my ears,

The Master's words,

And Students' discussions

Pass from my ears and register in conscience,

Yet my heart is elsewhere,

Within the morning rays passing through the window

I drift through hallways listless,

Bearing kindness and service

To all those who require and request it,

To expose the depths of my heart,

In good nature, in which peace is found,

In occasion, I spot my heart's keeper,

Who's willing kindness

Inspires strength in my fragmented heart,

Small and sickly as it is;

mere blackened lead

Yet she will fade into the world,

As I would fade from her memory,

And she to the depths of my heart

In occasion, I find my muse of emotion and reason,

She herself a symbol of elegance and grace,

She is my image of innocence and virtue,

Who's inner strength lies within her gaze of sentience,

Her dedication inspires mine

Her compassion and tranquility

Reminiscent of the master I serve

One flash of her smile lifts my day and spirit,

Unworthy of her compassion, I serve willingly,

Yet she can also be fragile;

In which I vow to serve and protect

 Yet she too will fade into the world,

With merely an arbitrary thought

That keeps me alive in her heart,

And She should fade into my memory,

Leaving but a chilling violet flame,

To burn in myself for eternity

Yet anger and frustration cloud my judgment,

The remnants of my pride unruly in its subjugation

Paranoia prominent

As I grow wayward without inspiration;

The mind is willing, yet the flesh is weak,

Such is the price I pay when rendered useless,

My decent into madness complete,

When even caffeine refuses to rescue me

From inner demons.

***

But then I am myself,

Ever shifting in thoughts,

As I lay on Navy sheets

Wandering in consciousness,

Between hypersomnia and insomnia,

Dancing the fine line between art and madness

Emotion and reason,

I am but a relic of the past

A dying breed, in dogged resistance,

One of the last from the old world,

Faltering oft in ways of new,

Misunderstood in archaic,

By those who have lost sanctity

Honor defiled by those

Who neglect their own,

I am merely Ronin; the wayward knight

Doomed to wander; an outcast

Searching for a cause,

Finding redemption in death