Some say I should curse my love, for making me become this.
That I should have refused her hand, as I lay dying on the battlefield.
I say she swooped down and saved me, took me to the fields beyond.
Gave me new meaning and eternal love.
So what does it matter? How I look, or the horns I bear.
I bear them proudly, without feeling their weight.
They are a sign of my prowess and courageous heart.
Of her giving me part of her essence, meaning she’ll always be near.
Now we fly the skies together. From afar seeing what becomes of man.
Diving down to pick up, those that no longer have flesh hands.
After we have them delivered, we fly back to our fields.
In the soft twilight, there is no need for armour or shield.
There we lay together, exploring the way to each other’s bliss.
So truth be told, I’ve never been happier than this.
When inspiration strikes, whether it’s convenient or not, I try to write. And few things are as good at waking my muse as the pictures curated by Paul Brooks over at The Wombwell Rainbow. See all images and read other responses to the Folktober Challenge here.
You can read other ekphrastic poems here.