The Wounded Warrior

In death ….
he lay cold and still.
Eyes silenced, grim faced furrowed brow
his body laid out.
A great sword lay on him
hilt upright
held in
hands clasped,
his great heart
covered.

This morning was bright and shining,
still,
water as still as glass
fumed with silver.

One was there to beside the boat
to send him across the sea.
Gulls spoke in broken cries
lamenting the leaving traveller.
How many had left this sacred place?

A hand rested on the furrowed brow
silent words
spoken of peace
and hope,
the last blessings for this journey
from this shore.
That same hand
pushed the warriors boat,
in which he lay still,
onto the sea

It slid
silently away from the shore
across the water.
The healing had begun.
A journey of unknown endings
bringing new beginnings.

One stood and watched
smiling as the boat drifted
reluctantly into the stillness.

Turning to gull crys
he walked up the beach
and left
leaving only footprints.