Arrow!

He saw it coming the arrow towards him flew

was frozen to the spot

here in the middle of the battle was engaged

it pierced his shoulder

violently he fell down onto the battlefield

where his life did yield!

 

Instantly the any sounds of the conflict faded

as his body touched down

any pain dissolved from the injury received

penetrating his beating heart

finding himself rising from the body shell

that lay where he fell!

 

Like a silent movie he walked with no sound

amongst his once comrades

still many fighting as the two armies clashed

seeing others like shadows

some like himself roamed about as if at peace

his earthly existence then did cease!

 

The Foureyed Poet.

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Warriors!

Down upon the bloody battlefield he observed

the slaughter of his army!

Their sworn enemy retreating in their victory

the adrenaline still pumping.

His warriors always defiant their roar so loud

of them he was truly proud!

 

His muscular body glistening in the early dawn

old scars and new wounds

Cris crossed his flesh a bloody sword held high

shouting a defying war cry

Echoing shrilly over the mist filled valley below

praying to god their way to show!

 

One lost battle he knew did not lose this war

but the warriors were weary.

Without families near to mourn their passing

being their leader had to be strong.

No Time for remorse or for him to be meek

nor allow himself to become weak!

 

Moving amongst his loyal men to bury the dead

and prepare for the next battle!

Later back at their camp site his officers gathered

to count the cost and plan.

Giving his pledge there would be no more defeat

feeling the surge in his heart beat!

 

At dawn the loyal warriors marched ready to fight

tough and fearless their formation tight!

 

Onward to meet their destiny!

 

The Foureyed Poet.

 

From The Battlefield!

From the battlefield a lone horseman retreated

his comrades never to leave.

The wounded soldier holding his head high

hearing his friends pitiful cries!

Veteran of many conflicts there was no choice

he had to be their voice!

 

Proud to be the bearer of the regiments colours

he had to return to headquarters.

To report the massacre of such a heroic band

heavy in heart he had to depart.

With the risk of capture he made his way

realising ahead dangers lay!

 

From that bloody battlefield he rode on at a rise

turned to salute his comrades.

Never to ride with them again in this mortal life

he was fatally wounded.

This his last mission to make one final report

and tell them how brave they fought.

 

Somehow many days later near the headquarters

the soldier was found near death.

His horse standing firm as though protecting him

the standard firmly in his hand.

With appalling injuries he completed his obligation

and honoured by an indebted nation!

 

From the battlefield site it’s said he’s seen even now

regiment colours flying high!

 

The Fouryed Poet.