Your Poetry Dot Com - In Valour's Arms

In this battle, bloody, I retreat
Back through ranks of massive men
Their eyes are sunk in near defeat,
Upon my choice, this all depends –
That flank of archers wait at wood
Their arrows’ aim is far too good
I must show strength in fearless course
So roar with sword upon my horse.

The breach is mending, slowly, slightly,
Before the sergeant’s desperate throes
I follow him on horseback, wildly
Dodging evil hail from bows –
They rain down hard like whining asps,
Felling swathes on every side
So shocked from rage, I hear sharp gasps
As poisoned arrows pull the tide . . .

This tide of war, recedes so quickly,
Many dead or dying fall,
Before me lies a beach of bloody
Bodies, beyond which I hear call
The clarion of fate’s sweet kiss
Her moment sounds to me like this;
A thousand tales in honoured stories
where legend spurs me on to glories.

In mine eyes, through black and white,
My steed takes wings and speeds through space
Between the breach and archer’s fright
To pulverize their ranks, apace!
Resplendent roars inspire the surge
Behind me where our valiance drives
Back enemies in blazing scourge
To save the day, our lands, our lives . . .

And though I fall, I’m caught by valour
And though my wounds have drained my pallor
I’m still alive beneath this sun
My charge was true, now we have won!
Yet life is fleeting as is war -
And in her arms, I’m relieved, for
Before me up above in blue
My sun, it sends its last pulse through
My heart to mind, to all my foes,
Who writhe and know in final throes
Their futile martyrdom is bound
In legend, bleeding through this ground . . .

See them flee from here. I'm drifting,
O’er that sea where death is sifting
Through defeat, for links of life
To slice those silver chords like a knife.
So up they float, so dead, yet knowing
To point at me, in light that’s growing
All around my spirit’s sphere
And on they float, right out of here . . .

Thus I am left to know the ending;
To see my honour’s legend blending
With witnesses who do attest
To seeing General be blessed
With godly armour, devil’s sword
A steed with wings that caused discord
Amongst the archers whom had fled
In terror, from this Liege, now dead.

This poem is Copyright ยฉ neptunes_first