Friday, 14 October 2011


srerne, a figure stands,
garbed in the cloak fear
hark now what do i hear,
the trumpet bellowing sounds

Lone warrior he, fearless
against a hundred stands
with a piece of flame
in his deadly hands

the sun glints off steel
the sounds of charge
thundersous clattering
as Greaved feet they march

Lone warrior unfearing stands
awaits his challengers they
garbed in cloaks of pain,
enslaved to misery

then the moment arrives,
dancing his deadly dance
a parry a thrust a riposte
a beheading slash, fells

his opressors, his executioners
the grass gore flecked
screams of the dead and dying
Linger they in the air

A promise and call
to the carrion feeders there
with one last slash, a scream
it ends, the misery and pain

all no more like the hundred who came
and went to their Bitter End.....

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