Ballad of an ancient fighter
In ancient times there was a fighter
a master of war, it were the time where those
were measured by blood on their swords
not length and elegance of their words.
Tired from battle; he never lost.
He saw a woman too fine to be true.
Being the man he was, he just knew
there can't be no danger ... and desire grew.
He let her approach, and smile and walk.
He even smiled back, his helmet removed.
He even put down his spear and his shield
while his fighter instincts approved.
And after a friendly while on the scene
he put down his swords, while fascination grew.
He stepped up to touch her, now he felt like wanting to
put his battle proved arms around her, too.
That was the moment, the instance to strike.
She now drove her dagger deep down in his chest
and left it there, while he was pretty impressed.
Remember, the man was one of the best.
He tried to look up, take a last view of beauty
but dropped down to his knees, his power was broken.
His weapons were worthless, his wishes unspoken
down on his knees, with his arms wide open.
And just before the last view faded
one of the last thoughts up in his mind
was, where is the peace he tried hard to find,
instead there was an angel here to kill him tonight.
Poetry by Century
Read 813 times
Written on 2008-02-16 at 13:45
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Stan Cooper |
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Janine>K |
