By Isaac Fisher
Beneath the gleam of a waning moon
Stands a solemn goddess, alone,
Waiting for her brave warrior to return from his Odyssey
So she can again see the light of day.
As her tears puddle on the wooden floors,
She gazes down at her sapling.
A persimmon tree, slowly growing,
Years before it can bear its ever-sweet fruit.
She bends down to feel its leaves
And remembers why she planted this tree...
A thousand miles away lies a man in a field.
He is on his back, staring up at a haze,
Slipping in and out of consciousness.
Suddenly the fog clears.
He remembers how he got to be on his back.
He remembers the burning, the screaming, the pain,
Why he has left home and who he has left behind.
Through the nostalgia, a flash.
His goddess, yes she still stands
Awaiting his glorious return.
They are both alone, dying to be reunited once again.
He looks to the sun.
She looks to the moon.
A window has never been so clear.
He takes a final glance at his goddess,
He cannot help but grin.
He lets go of his body and ascends.
She stares at her warrior.
Home has never felt so foreign
She gulps down her hemlock potion.
After so long,
A solemn goddess and her valiant warrior.
They lie together beneath the shade of a persimmon tree.
Indulging in the sweetness of its fruit,
Sharing their golden eternity.