'Upon St. George's Day..' - pipTalk Forums

How to Join	Member's Area	Private Library	Search	Sanctuary		Login
Main Forums	Discussion	Tech Talk	Mature Content	Archives	A home without a wall, Our haven without ends, A circle we all call Our Family of Friends!

sullivanthepoet.com
Member

since 2007-06-28

Posts 154
Devon, England

0 posted 2009-04-22 03:13 PM

I dreamed I saw a blood red cross,
full square a virgin ground;
Atop a shaft of Kentish ash,
beneath a spear head bound:
Its base drove deep in English sod,
upon that barrow mound;
And firm agrip its shaft... St. George,
by fire and foe surround.

All naked in those pyres there danced,
such foul demonic hordes;
Their shields wove tight with Christian souls,
black flames awreath their swords:
As pace on half and pace again,
each tongue in shrilling chords;
“On, on!” their dreadful army urged,
that ancient mound towards.

Til twixt that flag and Satan’s host,
stood fifty strides and less;
As shield to shield and cheek by jowl,
they jostled on to press:
All blood lust mad and savage eyed,
closed all and last egress;
Then tensed they there against the lunge,
like hawks against the jess.

When rose as if that very ground,
had of its womb made birth;
Unbroken as a ros’ry chain,
upon that sacred earth:
Full circle round that hillock’s foot,
to bind against its girth;
A crown of thorns of Yorkshire steel,
to test Hell’s armies’ worth.

All burnished armour sting eye bright,
did that dread ring consist;
As ‘stride their steeds a Templar guard,
rose from that ghostly mist:
Each thorn an unforgiving lance,
set hard an iron fist:
And ‘pon each haft, about the guard,
an English rose lay twist;

Drawn bold each tabard’s snow white weave,
as in that brave bloom’s praise;
A scarlet cross from neck to knee,
shone through the weak’ning haze:
Set Destrier as black as night,
wild ruby eyes ablaze;
From death’s murk stables spurred awar,
their spectral sires to raise.

When surged again those heathen hordes,
that dark satanic tide;
And pressed such throng against their backs,
those first foul ranks took stride:
Their cries the songs of madmen’s dreams,
that crazed and wits denied;
As pace by pace and step on step,
they closed that scant divide.

‘Twas then St. George his blade unsheathed,
thrust fierce its point on high;
And in reply the thunder rolled,
bright lightning rent the sky:
Quicksilver flash on searing bolt,
did to that sword tip fly;
Made as to scourge the very earth,
hell’s hounds its fruits deny.

But still they shuffled, lapped and crept,
within a lance length’s reach;
Sly back and forth and forth and back,
as wavelets wet the beach:
To draw those last fours paces near,
all cunning did they leach;
Their howls and screams a living thing,
rose shrilling to a screech.

Til as God’s finger lanced in blame,
he ‘llowed that weapon fall;
Apoint that surging, screaming horde,
it damned them each and all:
There danced the lightning ‘long its edge,
all eager on his call;
While ‘bove his head the thunder growled,
St. George’s willing thrall.

And ‘fore one foetid cloven hoof,
stole one more footfall’s gain;
That lightning cracked and hissed and arced,
its rage the wrath of Cain:
A nightmare beast it leapt the throng,
a swift and heartless bane;
And where it fell all in its wake,
the ravaged and the slain.

Back, back they fell, that ghoulish horde,
back, back against their kin;
All back upon those blades behind,
hung to their fellows pin:
And still it cracked and seethed and boiled,
its coin the wage of sin;
As breach on breach and rank on tier,
it scythed their ranks within.

Yet gained they not a hair’s respite,
when fearful shied they back;
As “Up” the Templars bid their beasts,
“Up, up!” To join the sack:
All rampant flashed their iron clad hooves,
begged smash and crush and hack;
With lance tips dipped to gizzard high,
they fell to the attack!

And as their circle grew afield,
in every open rank;
Another Knight that barrow rose,
to staunch each reckless flank:
And with each lance a demon’s throat,
their ill found daring sank,
Til spirits crushed and heart all gone,
that throng all hellward shrank.

It melted then that fearsome dream,
as fleet as did that fray;
Though burned such scenes upon my soul,
as would not pass away:
To know at end, our darkest hour,
with all and hope betray;
An English heart of fire and steel,
shall rise to show the way!

To hoist that blood red English cross...
Upon St. George’s Day!

© Sullivan the Poet 2009

www.sullivanthepoet.co.uk