The Last Battle Poem by James Pansegrau

On the battle field once more
Sword drawn out towards the war
Through the air the sounds of catapults tore,
As they hit you, smell the fiery tar
And the burning flesh of men who’s cries call
To return fire with arrows from up high.
Out the portcullis to meet the shield wall
Our swords clashed against the attackers of nigh
Hours have passed I now stand alone
Blood soaked sword fallen from my hand
I walk through the dead, my armor moans
As I dropp onto the land.
I look towards the keep, my lady looking and pointing
As I turn my head, a sword flashes, and I fall, left dying