Slowhands
06-27-2013, 04:55 PM
old piece from another site ...
I was born a man, armour dawned with a sword in hand,
emerged from my rights of passage, willing to enforce His plan.
Sent by the Lord with lance, His world again has worn its chance,
now on top of my horse in trance, overlooking this torn expanse.
There's nothing but a floor of sand, no beautiful decors of plants,
not even Mother Nature herself could escape their whorish rants.
Nothing of war is grand, its burden, everything has worn its stamp,
the sun is now setting, and I begin to hear their roars and chants.
They begin to pour from camps, forever closing their door to chance,
I'm lost in a mournful trance, as the flames in their torches dance.
Set to enforce His stance, to the entire Earth, to every corner of land,
I will purify the wicked, to their soul, and to the very core of man.
Everything mortal is damned, as they now begin to form in strands
I feel the Lords hand, a final prayer,
...and now the hoards advance.
I unsheath my sword to all the chances they had to save themselves,
such the irony, as now the new moon reflects from the blade itself.
They crash in waves, rows among rows, full of their hate and anguish,
so many have fallen silent, as many more still wait to lay in vanquish.
He guides my hand, to be swift and sure, not to prolong the dying,
as it starts to rain, and I can only imagine now that God is crying.
Puddles form of crimson colors, thunder bellows in the storms approach,
such the washing away gives a sense of wonder in the form of hope.
There was no suffering here, even the wrath of God is kind and true,
He fades these horrid memorys from my thoughts, my mind construes.
Night after night I travel the path given, as He follows my strides,
such might, the demise of mankind by his own will, a swallow of pride.
Until a new beginning, I will be His knight, a reminder why they killed his Son,
and I will be the one to tell of this story, once His will is done.
I was born a man, armour dawned with a sword in hand,
emerged from my rights of passage, willing to enforce His plan.
Sent by the Lord with lance, His world again has worn its chance,
now on top of my horse in trance, overlooking this torn expanse.
There's nothing but a floor of sand, no beautiful decors of plants,
not even Mother Nature herself could escape their whorish rants.
Nothing of war is grand, its burden, everything has worn its stamp,
the sun is now setting, and I begin to hear their roars and chants.
They begin to pour from camps, forever closing their door to chance,
I'm lost in a mournful trance, as the flames in their torches dance.
Set to enforce His stance, to the entire Earth, to every corner of land,
I will purify the wicked, to their soul, and to the very core of man.
Everything mortal is damned, as they now begin to form in strands
I feel the Lords hand, a final prayer,
...and now the hoards advance.
I unsheath my sword to all the chances they had to save themselves,
such the irony, as now the new moon reflects from the blade itself.
They crash in waves, rows among rows, full of their hate and anguish,
so many have fallen silent, as many more still wait to lay in vanquish.
He guides my hand, to be swift and sure, not to prolong the dying,
as it starts to rain, and I can only imagine now that God is crying.
Puddles form of crimson colors, thunder bellows in the storms approach,
such the washing away gives a sense of wonder in the form of hope.
There was no suffering here, even the wrath of God is kind and true,
He fades these horrid memorys from my thoughts, my mind construes.
Night after night I travel the path given, as He follows my strides,
such might, the demise of mankind by his own will, a swallow of pride.
Until a new beginning, I will be His knight, a reminder why they killed his Son,
and I will be the one to tell of this story, once His will is done.