Weekly Challenge May4 – Duets – “Hell’s Hand Satchels”

Written by Mockingbird Down and Americana Injustica

“Why do we sit at this table, my Friend?
in the back of the bar behind the pirate’s curtain,
I believe that we somehow have each been,
on separate paths to the same trouble, again;
these kinds of places mean only one thing,
the scars on our faces are rather telling,
now let’s drink and divulge in our comradery,
but, why is it that your hands are trembling?”

“Don’t sip so fast, my dear. My hands only
tremble because of the quieted rage I have grabbing
at my chest. Can you see them, love?
The demons of the bastards and the whores as they
laugh and squeal in time to each others bleating?
I have brought us here, for clear and precise reasons,
and your scars will only serve you well by the time
the reckoning has begun. It is a very beautiful night.”

“Aye – you’re right; what a perfected, star-filled sky,
epochs in time, they still shine – a shrine to you and I,
a luminary mapping of the vengeance in your eyes,
a twinkling mirror image of the bastards that must die;
Now sit back and let your chains down, my friend,
indulge in the strength of our unity, once again,
we both know how it goes: it’s us against them,
in an infinite war for the Hell that we find comfort in.”

“You speak truth. I have grown weary of these chains
and the weight they add to my steps. My shoulders have
become accustomed to carrying burden of injustice; Hell’s
hand satchels; filled with the names of the hunted horsemen
who failed to do what we must do. But – I share this load with you;
my kin both in the infected shadows, and in the guileful light.
Intoxication it is, my friend, both of the mind and of the body.
Tonight we watch the stars unfold, and light the way for morning.”

You Will Die. I Will Not Cry.

Mocking Bird Down

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I am a collection of days,
the pendant trophy that hangs
around your neck.
I am the melted down knight chess piece,
that you reshaped to be a pawn,
to carry in your pocket for good luck.
I am the empty space, that fills your mind
right before you blow out that candle,
and remember what you did, before closing your eyes.
I am the memory, that sticks to your clothes
and is etched into the lines in your hands,
that no longer serve you as they used to.
I am the girl that is now a woman,
and you are the old man that is now a shell
of the demon you used to be.
I will be there, the day you die, surrounded
by tubes and drips. I will be the last face you see,
and I will take that trophy back.
Because I lived.
And you, you…

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