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Battles Past

Poetry By: Ian Dawn
Poetry



medieval, knights, honour, war had to do this I do not know why it just came out of me.


Submitted:Feb 6, 2013    Reads: 25    Comments: 9    Likes: 3   


The ground I see as I peer over the craggy cliff

Is covered with blood and viscera of war

With no clear winner except the blacksmith

They came in suits of mail and reflective sun

With plumes like the phoenix upon their helm

The metallic beasts slaughtered and blood run.

Giant steeds snorting fire from nostrils flared

Caused ground to quake and shudder as thunder

With dark dead eyes that their masters shared

Limbs hacked and sliced from torsos unbound

Men like rag dolls thrown and diced in the air

Body parts met each other again upon the ground

The fetid breath of the reaper as he arrived to reap

Was to overpowering to some as they fled

But only into the wrath of a waiting traitors heap

Heads like overripe melons discarded by a grocer

As he inspects the contents within to ensure ripeness

Only to find the insides rotten as he looks closer

The stench of death and blood spilled copper

Is fast on the wind as it dances around the living

Giving the air thickness and oppression improper

Then as if by gods own will the noise of battle stops

The blanket of dead an eerie non living reminder

Bellow was a field of flowers with bright yellow tops

A silence descends and the wounded put to rest

The moans of men replaced by returning birds

Their whistles from on high as they return to the nest

To the victor, another day to die is granted to thee

To regroup, love and feed before the next push

They pray to a God for the ability of his wisdom to see

But what they hear a litany of verse and begotten lies

A story told to keep them on the front lines

As a little bit of their humanity each time dies

The metal warrior cleans and is tended to by serf

Knowing one day his time will be up at last

And he can finally with honour lie upon the earth





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