VG (24/01/1979 / Epsom, East Surrey)

Fields To Battle

Glisten does the steel plate armour, sparkle beneath a raging sun
Horse backed Calvary, a flag waving in the breeze, peace to be undone
Eyes peer into eyes of the two masses awaiting in numbers many
Bows perfected and swords clean, soon to be met with their destiny

Hearts pounding for anticipation, of the order to deal out death
As sweat runs from the face, of a well crafted soldier, drawing breath
A horn sounds over the fields grass lands, a dark crow watches in hunger
As the final order given, so this charge has begun, so shall the slaughter

A rage of men, chasing the time to their final demise, with swords drawn
Arrows filling the air; like a flock of wild eagles; bare down to lethal scorn
Fall does the many, so many more to charge on until met with the shield
And swords find swords, find flesh again, weapons of fine craft doth yield

As the early agonising screams of the early fallen, fill the heads of mortals
Fear unfelt, as rage takes the command of melded hearts, before death befalls
Slashing, hacking, the severing of limbs, bloodied disablement of the strong
Spears thrown, pierce the silver to the red, and banish the hopes for long

Many but the strong, that have fallen now, still the warriors will not stop
As the dead begin to mount, victorious epilogue is seen, before hopes drop
A side to this merciless bloodshed, overcoming, that of their suppression
Falling the enemies of their hearts, their blood, their arch rivals abolition

Drawing near to their king’s position, the opportunity is sought for the kill
To end the tyranny of this uncalled for, dictator, of vile rape and blood spill
A final spear is launched, to flight through the chaos, finding the fatal place
Plate silver armour, no match for the point of no return, king falls from grace

Their clan witness the befalling of their leader, the conflict is subsiding
For a victory has been scored, upon this day, written into histories writing
The field of mans falling, blood stained fields, a new ruling that shall bestow
For the carrion left to meek, in the night time mist, luxuries for the dark crow

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