NOTE: Mark is taking a break from his usual “On the Mark” column this week. However, he has shared some of his poetry that he presented at the Scholarship Symposium April 8.

The Book of Hard Knocks

There are many types of armor in this world,

But the grandest of them all are the

Mental,

Emotional,

Spiritual,

And physical ones.

The good must be maintained

By their charges.

The bad must be repaired or refined

For the trials ahead.

Quality matters in every piece

Small or large.

Being an accompliace to violence

May be unavoidable.

Life is unpredictable,

But actions do not need to be.

Stiff shoulders and hard bodies

Are meant to protect and prolong,

Not to harm or kill.

The safety of the body

Of the man,

Of the woman,

Comes second to the

Integrity of their ideals.

Blood spilled or bones broken

May be out of your control,

Yet thou art the wall that stands

Firm against countless enemies.

It is the duty of all to mold the body

And to protect their beliefs.

For What’s Important

I am a small, ordinary man.

I am not good with politics, art, or conversation.

What I am good at is rather simple, like me.

The pieces I craft help support my life, my family.

They reflect how far I’ve come, and how far I’m willing to go.

Chainmail, greaves, gauntlets and paulderons,

This metal I weave tells the story of my life.

And if I have it my way, it’ll prolong the stories of others.

A man came around my shop the other day.

Tall, slim, a handsome rogue of a mercenary.

He was green behind the ears yet housed a fire within.

I asked him what he wanted and he replied,

Something light, something to help me move freely.

I wanted to trust him, but that smile of his made me cautious.

He was young; a glory hound out for himself.

Money was money, though I told him to wait.

His request wasn’t that important to me.

The next day a woman barged in.

A strange creature with dark features,

A lifetime of hardship had made her cold and jaded.

I asked her what she wanted and she replied,

Something heavy, something to help crush my foes.

Maybe she was a victim, maybe a blood knight.

She needed time to heal, not to kill.

Money was money, though I told her to wait.

Her request wasn’t that important to me.

Today a strange figure blew into my shop.

Man, woman, possibly not even human.

All they had with them was a destroyed set of armor.

I asked them what they wanted and here came the reply,

Something old, something new, something I can use

To protect those near and dear to me.

Homeland

Great Waves of steel and iron clashing together,

Churning about without pause as if

The creator herself had run her fingers through

The watery strands and pushed them along.

To stand against the tide

Would be foolish to most,

Suicide to many,

Brave to a few.

Waves were not meant to crash against one another.

To see the sea of armor smash and fall into the other,

Each molecule vanishing under the thunder,

Would be to see nature itself commit an atrocity.

A land wishes to stand firm against the tidal wave.

The coast is poised and ready.

Sand will give, cracks will form,

But the bank will protect the grass.

Time and time again the shimmering strands

Attack and advance.

The coast gives ground, but not mercy.

Waves lose ferocity and soon lap at the sand

Like wounded warriors spurned on by

Foolish pride.

Scales 

We were cold once.

The flames of the earth

Washed over us and

Breathed life into our body.

Echo it from the peaks.

We were alone once.

One turned to another

And offered a warm shoulder

With a seat by the roaring embers.

The forest receives all.

We were helpless once.

The earth became the workshop.

Wood in hand, rock for destruction,

Soil for home and water for life.

The infinite blue cares little for the land.

We were weak once.

Against one another we fell.

Rock beat flesh, force ruined sense.

Weapons had made us cold, alone, and helpless.

We looked to the mountains.

We looked to the bark of the trees.

We looked to the crushing waves.

We took what we needed to change.

He wears the mountain,

An avalanche in every step.

She fronts the forest

And feels at peace.

They stand firm against the ranks,

Swallowing souls with every churn.

You cannot move us anymore.