A poem about war and love.
I stand upon the battlefield, with bloodied sword and shield in hand,
while around me, lay both friend and foe, whose lifeblood stains the land.
My body bleeds from a dozen cuts, made by sword and fist and knife,
although they sting from blood and sweat, there’s none that threaten life.
The encounter won we leave the battle line, as the sun glows crimson red,
it's time to help with binding wounds, and the counting of the dead.
Through the darkness fly the taunts that the invading warriors yell,
surrender you craven dogs, they cry, or we’ll send your souls to hell.
Chased by the spreading highland mist, their carrion words take flight,
until, unanswered, they return to roost like vultures for the night.
Now the silence smothers all, like a blanket on a fire,
as we bid farewell to friends at arms, upon the funeral pyre.
While my brothers sleep, I sit alone, and tend my battle gear,
knowing, that when morning comes, the call of death I’ll hear.
There is no fear of death in me; it is but a passing through the veil,
I've walked that path a hundred times, and my spirit shall prevail.
Death is but a respite, along a path chosen many lives ago,
when I chose to take on human form and help my soul to grow.
For once I reach the other side, my spirit shall again reflect,
upon the way I treated my fellow man, with caring or neglect.
Sleep will not come for me this night, nor my lover Cerridwen,
she too feels it's time to leave this shell, and start anew again.
We lose ourselves in loves embrace our passion rising unabated,
then at sunrise we whisper our goodbyes, our destiny already fated.
By morning light, I lead the charge, as my comrades' rally round me,
the red haze has taken me over, and death is all that I can see.
As I hack and cut their bodies hit the earth and their spirits drift away,
my blood lust cannot be sated, and I kill all who come my way.
At my side, my soul-mate Cerridwen fights, like a berserker without control,
until a sword-thrust finds her heart and I feel her passing in my soul.
My thirst for vengeance is unquenchable, and by my hand dozens have died,
until a spear-thrust stills my aching heart, and I lay still at my beloved's side.