Thank you to Sarah Louise Jordon for the following Tribute:
Sarah-Louise writes: "I know a lot of people will be struggling right now, as we approach the first anniversary of Theda's death.
I am finding it very painful, and I am sending so much love to everyone else who is too".
Sarah-Louise writes: "I know a lot of people will be struggling right now, as we approach the first anniversary of Theda's death.
I am finding it very painful, and I am sending so much love to everyone else who is too".
"This isn't a Poem" by Sarah-Louise
This isn't a poem,
It is an echo of the song the warriors sing
When they open their tents to greet the morning
And remember everything they still have left to fight for.
It is the reflection of their faces in the river, as they drink deep and talk of those they love;
While their breath makes clouds and the birds take flight like dark-winged dreams.
This isn't a poem,
It is the feel of the names of the fallen on the warriors tongues
As they reach for their swords and polish their armour, looking at their comrades one more time,
In case this is the last chance they have to be together.
It is the colour of the warpaint they use upon their skin, to make intricate patterns with beautiful meanings.
It is the sound of their footsteps and the soft whinny of the horses as they saddle them up.
This isn't a poem,
It is the sight of the warriors riding into battle,
Moving towards the waiting mountains
With only their courage to keep them safe.
It is the breeze that ruffles the gold-red flag in the arms of the flag bearer
And the soft murmuring applause of the trees as the troops ride slowly past.
It is the knowledge that not all of those who go will be returning
This is not a poem,
It is the promise of friends to stand together, through the ages of endurance,
Until the last day comes,
Knowing those who once battled with them and were lost
Will stand forever in their hearts and help them go on living.
It is the taste of the tears shed by soldiers
When they see Pain testing his instruments of torture on somebody they love.
It is the long journey home to the crackling campfire ,with its flames dancing into the night
While good and heartening food is cooked and shared.
This isn't a poem,
It is the hush as the warriors sleep;
And the way that whilst they dream, the bravery of their hopes
Unfurls like brightly-coloured string
And drifts out into the world
To tie their faith to something sacred,
It is the understanding that victory is not about the way this ends but about who it is we face our troubles with,
It is about how much strength we carve from the stone of who we are
This is not a poem,
It is the kindness and the courage in your eyes
It is an echo of the song the warriors sing
When they open their tents to greet the morning
And remember everything they still have left to fight for.
It is the reflection of their faces in the river, as they drink deep and talk of those they love;
While their breath makes clouds and the birds take flight like dark-winged dreams.
This isn't a poem,
It is the feel of the names of the fallen on the warriors tongues
As they reach for their swords and polish their armour, looking at their comrades one more time,
In case this is the last chance they have to be together.
It is the colour of the warpaint they use upon their skin, to make intricate patterns with beautiful meanings.
It is the sound of their footsteps and the soft whinny of the horses as they saddle them up.
This isn't a poem,
It is the sight of the warriors riding into battle,
Moving towards the waiting mountains
With only their courage to keep them safe.
It is the breeze that ruffles the gold-red flag in the arms of the flag bearer
And the soft murmuring applause of the trees as the troops ride slowly past.
It is the knowledge that not all of those who go will be returning
This is not a poem,
It is the promise of friends to stand together, through the ages of endurance,
Until the last day comes,
Knowing those who once battled with them and were lost
Will stand forever in their hearts and help them go on living.
It is the taste of the tears shed by soldiers
When they see Pain testing his instruments of torture on somebody they love.
It is the long journey home to the crackling campfire ,with its flames dancing into the night
While good and heartening food is cooked and shared.
This isn't a poem,
It is the hush as the warriors sleep;
And the way that whilst they dream, the bravery of their hopes
Unfurls like brightly-coloured string
And drifts out into the world
To tie their faith to something sacred,
It is the understanding that victory is not about the way this ends but about who it is we face our troubles with,
It is about how much strength we carve from the stone of who we are
This is not a poem,
It is the kindness and the courage in your eyes
