Location: Shire of Trisel, Trimaris

I am in my late forties, a proud husband, father, and a bard. I am a book pedlar by trade and a bookman by vocation. I am a romantic, a realist, and a Believer. I like a good joke, and a bad one even better. I admire all ladies for the innate beauty that is in each one, but my heart is sworn to the fair and gentle Lady Lorelei, who has consented to share my life and my name.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

A Soldier for the Fight

You stand there in formation
With your armor and your shield.
Your bowels turn to water
As anticipation builds.
The time’s past for debating
What is wrong and what is right.
There is only weapons drawn,
And the moment of the fight.

Decisions made over your head
Don’t matter much to you.
But when the horns and drums sound out,
Well you know what to do.
Do it to the other guy.
His slaughter’s your delight.
As his blood spills on the ground
You revel in the fight.

You see a man on horseback.
You open up his side.
As his guts come spilling out,
Likewise so his pride.
He doesn’t look so noble now,
Death turns his features white.
You’ve no time to be noble.
You’re busy with the fight.

A drummer boy not more than ten
Lies broken on the ground;
Just another body midst
The corpses scattered round.
To the general in charge
A drummer lost is slight.
His death adds to the fury
That you pour into the fight.

Your arms and chest are red with blood,
Your face a mask of gore.
Spilling it in buckets
Is what your weapon’s for.
You’re just a lowly killer;
You’ll never be a knight.
But killers are what’s needed
If you’re going to win a fight.

And when the day is over,
And the end comes to the war,
It doesn’t really matter
What it was that you fought for.
You only know that you’ve survived.
You’ll see tomorrow’s light;
To march off to another war:
A soldier born to fight.