I strived the ground near this dear mound
With sword held high, I hit the ground.
My armoured chest had took the pound
Of a cannon ball so large and round
That it spun my sword all proud and torn
To the ground where we were formed.
A silence passed just for a while...
Then a tile was layed with cross and step
To remember me in time of strength
Forgotten dreams of Kings and Queens
The layman's frock all pitched with scorn
To prep the fields for those who steal
Lay waste and barren for a Cannon
Sweet grass and flowers pleased my gaze
Then the field was full of maize...
As I watched the seasons slowly change
Harsh winds had blown the lucid soils
That man had cut with sword and scythe
Having never looked beyond the sky
But knelt the earth in all the dirt
Where he was born from birth to girth
To pass asunder from his grave
To view the earth that God had made
He takes it back from breaking backs
Through death and toil and folly man's tale
I watched a while as years passed by
As people slowly killed and died
Then silence fell on this ill mound
No sun or moon or harvest groom
To till the clutching hands on straw
No God..... no dog or maidens frock
Came forth to lend a helping hand.
For man had tired just like his God
Like my rusted scabbard sword....
Lay dead and waste beneath my gaze
As I truly fell to waste.
I closed my eyes and fell asleep
No longer could I hear the children weep....
As they lay deep into a heap ; poisoned breasts of those who ferried
Lay squalled and buried by those who cherished
No grave or mass or patron's cast, religious gash.......
and surplus cash could save the torn and festered trash
That man had grazed with a shaven haste
With hand held high into the sky
He beckons me, and asks me why ?