Yamatsu

And so on soft moments grace, there came a horseman under banner of disgrace,
And a face that set fire to all who saw of it. Yamatsu. He stood not too long or lean,
but muscular and horseish,
With legs of thunder and arms that struck as knives through clay.
His armament was his faith in himself,
even for his forlorn banishment for refusal to wear the armor of his class,
Or clothes for that matter. He chose the suit he was born with,
with painted face of blood drawn after hunting for his meal.
His eyes burned with prenatal fire...
With a purity of things before that could only be found on the ones before they are fired
into the small vessel in a young womanÕs belly,
and thrust out between her legs into war.
Yamatsu was a whirlwind. He was the reaver in the field of vengeance,
A hired mercenary, though always glaring of his own intent as the moments struck him.
He leaned heavily towards the war fan,
though his opponent's longer weapons made him learn the sword,
and wield it like the wrath of a demon, he did.
And all who were destined to meet him in battle
or face the whir of his war fan in the acts of hired vengeance
respected their executioner greatly before their lives were rend from their flesh.
And in the form of spirits they followed this naked Ronin,
to watch and record his exploits.
He and his Horse with no name, because the mare would be food to Yamatsu if the need arose,
so he saw no reason to grant his food a name, leaving the impersoned to its means.
Yamatsu, The one of no armor and the will to cleave the world if he so desired.
Yamatsu, the vanquisher, and simple man with war always on his mind.
His poetry was as supple as his warring,
Cold sunder morning, Violent in its predispose.
Make way, for hear, comes the bird of mourning.
He negated the ritual of set Haiku for a freer form...
Much like himself... Raw...
as it came out so to did it strike the parchment
and forever cleave the eye of the reader as the reader fell under its clean blade.
Yamatsu, the dreaded naked rider of his horse of someday meat or decoy.
Yamatsu, the wielder of the fan of war and the blade of simple steel.
Hair left to its crow like flight,
it flew behind him as his horses did as they rode into battleÐ
Alive and wild with lightning of black spark, and greasy fire.
Bramble of golden wheat and crusted reds from battle tangled,
flying free as he bore down on his intermittentÐ
on his singular vision.
Until it was released to be a bird or a noble in its next life.
But always respecting this nude barbarian who was walking thunder and riding tsunami.
Yamatsu, the cast out, and the caster out.
Yamatsu.
Long live Yamatsu that he may teach all to go their own way.
That he may lay bloody wake to the importance of it.
Freedom, his cry.
Yamatsu, the Self-King. Master of Do.
The Taoist Shogun of his own warring state.
Of fiery face, I see you Sun,
But I am the ocean and you are but an emberring match before me.
I Am Yamatsu.

©2000DavidCaplan