A shadowy fear held the riderless steeds
o'er earth's pounding heart, while beneath their hooves
battered limbs and weapons, aggression's grim souvenirs,
lay everywhere like scattered weeds;
remnants of a sorry day.
They met at dawn 'neath an ice blue sky;
pennants fluttered on staffs held high,
supported by a roar that grew
from a thousand throats the battle cry
that on this day the foe would die.
Men merged together like folded fingers,
Swords and shields a raging cacophony.
Blood soaked soil and screams that lingered
in the clotted air that death expelled
on the multitudes whose time was nigh.
No sound of trumpet now nor threatening bellows,
instead the cry of ambition mislead.
Above the scene, with hungry eye on carrion,
the avian victors of the folly circle
the vanquished survivors among the dead.
Where now embellishments of certain victory,
the promises of pomp and glory?
Where now the dreams of daring deeds
gone and gone on this sorry day
retold in song and story?
Abandoned on the blood soaked plain,
no rider in the saddle or there to take the rein.
A headless herd, their purpose done,
misused and left with fear and pain.
A battle's folly bereft of gain.
******************************************************
YOU ARE READING
Poems Primarily Narrative (or not)
PoetryFIRST PLACE COFFEE AFTER DARK WRITING CONTEST - JULY 2020 This collection has no particular category or message. They are errant thoughts and observations on various subjects. If interested, I hope you find some you enjoy.
