Hurry up, sire, the enemy surely approaches hither.
by Erik Larson
Anger like a fierce wild animal rages in me.
Sick of all the fights, ready for triumph.
Maybe, like a medieval swordsman having fought too long.
I think a fire is coming on me.
I think a frustration is erupting within.
I think I will get it soon, if not death, my mission
to plunge into the fray with a fervor not my own
to slice through the air like an arrow sharpened thrown
breaker breaking like the silence from a scream death
raking my hair with shaking hands out of my face and