The Warrior Part 3.

He rode across the hills and dales
Toward the place once known as home
But he knew he could not stay there
Through folly forced to roam

And so he lay beneath the stars
Now bathed in moonlights beam
And as his eyelids slowly closed
He soon began to dream

From hence the loins of a viking king
His mother of noble birth
Raped within the churchyard grounds
Conceived on sacred earth

His birthright kept a secret
From his Lordship by her grace
Untill upon her death bed
She told him to his face

But now the boy had come of age
Till now was unaware
His Lordship flew into a rage
And cried out in despair

You are a cuckoo in the nest
And welcome here no more
You've had from me the very best
I cannot right, whats gone before

And so he rode into the night
To seek his fortunes bold
Still smarting from his Lordships words
His blood still running cold

He'd been taught the art of combat
Which came to him with ease
He'd sell his axe and sword to any man
Who could afford his fee's

And so he raged across the land
Leaving trails of blood and carnage
And woe betide the enemy
Who would not pay him homage.

To be continued:



Poetry by penfold18
Read 686 times
Written on 2006-01-12 at 13:56

Tags Warrior3 

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BlueyedSoul
I'm speechless, your writing is perfection. Iawait part 4.

~Cindy
2006-01-15