There are no questions, no riddles or a marks from the gods

No saviour, no redemption for the cross-bearing hearts

There are no footmarks to follow

Only the gallows in sight

This flesh is weakened and strained

Yet still roaming ahead

The tears of salt or the drops of blood

All shed from the same trees

And the roots of the scarred flesh

All spread into waste

There’s a mark, there’s an invisible scar

A sight with distorted hope, carved into stones

Written in trees, burnt into pages of history

And whether to fight or struggle in silence

To give steel or to lay in the pyres

A spear in the chest or a knife in hand

To lay below the soils or to march for these lands

The flesh is weakened and strained

Buried below the soils of the brave