fortunes of war
mid the carnage of the crimea
a heathenish warrior confronted me
swung a bloodied sword
bellowed like a demon
my courage failed within
my lips begged forgive
the heathen dropped his sword
and cried
live
by the last trees of Pachendaele
a nobleman pressed a gun
to the cornice of my brow
he had known
the gentle love of woman
friendship from on high
but though i pleaded for my breath
he shouted
die
a heathenish warrior confronted me
swung a bloodied sword
bellowed like a demon
my courage failed within
my lips begged forgive
the heathen dropped his sword
and cried
live
by the last trees of Pachendaele
a nobleman pressed a gun
to the cornice of my brow
he had known
the gentle love of woman
friendship from on high
but though i pleaded for my breath
he shouted
die
posted by heelers | 9:38 AM
2 Comments:
James, that is just awesome. It reminds me vaguely of a poem that fascinated/horrified me as a child about the Queen of Air and Darkness. (That may have been the title.)
Missj, Awesome is my middle name.
James
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