The Blacksmith

Persians in cloth riding over the cliff
Rise from your slumber
Get out of your tent

The swords coming down and blood’s gonna spill
Death’s got your number
Horses Hell-bent

By fire and spark the Hornets take flight
Splitting their shields and piercing the night

Back at the township the blacksmith he sweats
Steam in his moustache
Hammer and tongs

Wife out the back lying cold in her bed
Scream at the stables
Hammer and tongs

By boot and by stirrup, down to the sand
Ride for Athena, her heart in your hand

Calvary mustered by General’s call
Lower you helmet
Do as you’re told

Over the top, the heathens will fall
Prisoners converted
Or murdered or sold

Comrades behind you, your chest made of brass
Die for the future, salute to the past

Brother at war a stone in his sandal
Blacksmith at work
Hammer and tongs

A glow in his eyes and a sword on the anvle
Run through the Turk
Hammer and tongs

Blood on the sawdust, sleep is betrayed.
All for the weapon, at war with the blade

We will fight
We will fight
We will fight until dawn

And when the sun comes up
The Women shall morn.

by Ashley Hawkes

Comments (1)

This is another intriguing poem I have read of yours, Ashley... I think I will have to continue reading your poems. dan