Poetry

The morning sun and then the crow,
His squire wakes him: "Time to go";
The big man rises, wakes from sleep,
Remembers darkness and the deep;
A hearty breakfast, and then to dress,
Before the cross to then confess;
He heaves a sigh and motions to him,
"Bringeth me mine armor, Tim";
Heavy metal does he strap on,
Gingerly--"It weighs a ton...";
When all is set and feels just right,
The man is no man, but a knight;
Golden sun meets silver armor,
And it shines from mount to shore.

The fight for vic'try rages on,
Those days of peace are long-since gone;
And as you read this, far away,
The enemy troops are kept at bay;
They were our friends once, long ago,
But now we fight a deadly foe;
On a dozen fronts the battles rage,
A score of plans the generals stage;
And with a nod, the order's sent,
A score of plans to one is bent;
Their king is toppled, a nasty fate,
We've won the war --
Check, and mate.

Death be not unto thee now,
For I, in thy stead, do hell endow.
Your hellish path of demons spawned,
Was cast from earth as day-break dawned;
Instead of you, 'tis me they follow,
An the pits of hell do our souls swallow;
Through red-hot depths and smoldering fires,
Do I traverse with chains of briars;
Pain and torture plague my road,
And yet, my stance remains unbowed;
Not from faith in God on high,
But faith in man -- in you!, Dorsai;
For e'en though you've failed again,
I've highest hopes you'll make amends;
'Tis that faith that spurns me on,
So do not fail me 'neath the sun;
And in this nightmare shall I stay,
To wait release from you -- some day.

I lied for you, for a single kiss,
Died for you, a life without your bliss;
Now at the gates of hell, I make my stand,
As an ambassador of man;
The gates begin to creak and groan,
The red-hot air begins to moan;
My only weapon in this fight,
Will prove to be the greater might;
For I hold aloft and above,
The legendary sword of love.