Runcible Spoon

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The Recruit


Swords of fire

slice the ashen skies.

Cue for the daughter to depart.


Delivering her to urgency

her wagon waits

under the porch of her home

in the nook of the Nilgiris.


Battles abound---here, there, everywhere

Her new uniform to witness  

peaks she crosses

falls she endures

be decorated with epaulets or

dyed crimson.


Thick with gloom her parents

teeter on the brink.

the temple bells she rings

might shatter them.


Pieces of their being

she'll be left to collect---

shards never join.


On the sharp edges of those

her shroud of duty will hang.