Ryan Brodesser

(9/16/1994 / California)

Battle Of Yore


one thousand men stood upon the steppes
waiting for the war that had lasted a hundred generations to rebegin.
arrows are knocked from men on hilltop, and ships, long lines wait in the ocean deeps
the horn has yet to be signaled now, And the men are eager for it to start
to fight, to win, for their country, they shall do their part
for honor and for peace, the men will fight and die as they fight
to bleed, and stain the soil to end their county and their people’s plight

now the harsh horn brays, and the charge begins
with wild yells the heroes soon to die rush on, ignoring spear pricks and arrow stings
as they march, the earth trembles beneath their feet
as the horse and men move with a charging beat
their cry, like the souls of the evil dammned send chills down enemy spines
and spears part the shielded lines
whether the battle, fate bound will be a victory, none but the gods know
but fear and respect will be found amongst the their foe

years have gone by, and now the fields are empty and only bones have yet remained
silent husks of bygone years and strength their fluids of fate and bravery long drained
folk, as they pass top their hats toward this field of honor but stay far away
lest the shades and shadows of once great lords and men make them their prey
the ones left still alive after the battle think of with misty eyes and say
those ones, my children, those were the days!
and the young ones listen, with eyes full and wide with respect and awe
when they imagine the things their grandparents did or saw

aye, but those days are now well past long gone and done
Yet those days had meaning, tales of elder days, evil monsters and heroes strong and young
And those tales can never be forgotten or for another mortal desire, sold
aye.. You can always sit down and begin, so the story can be told.

Submitted: Monday, August 12, 2013
Edited: Monday, August 26, 2013

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Poet's Notes about The Poem

Ah, fantasy, glory and battles of yore. Please review!

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