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Open Poetry #44
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'Onward Heathen Soldiers..'
| Open Poetry #44 |
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'Onward Heathen Soldiers..' |
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sullivanthepoet.com Member
since 2007-06-28
Posts 154Devon, England |
‘Onward Heathen Soldiers..’ Loath vanguard I; This awful column’s head, reluctant yet do rearward steer my gaze; To see beneath a changeling sky once more, their bayonets in the sun lanced clouds ablaze; As far as sees the dulled and naked eye, the faceless soldiers of my passing days. And with each stealthy dawn is add one more, with uniform fresh creased and buttoned bright; Half pace behind aguard this care worn back, to stand its’ watch unto the deathly night; Where spent and weary eyed it sentry waits, impatient on the coming of the light. Thereon to take its place one step abaft, and there its number to this heathen corps; All nameless each and silent marking time, their number now run nigh a thousand score; But close the foe no general yet afield, had ever wished his army smaller more. When every rifle this militia add, brings closer yet this war’s predestined end; And ‘ere that dying battle’s even joined, its’ fate writes bold in every dark portend; Come all the marshals pitted there before, not one has yet these grave pocked earths defend. For though took all their form by these old hands, know I too well then each will turncoat be; As in that vale of death each man must hold, and watch his days as rank deserters flee; Til naked and alone as birthed he stands, bright blade in hand aface eternity. That blade, to forge, each willing day its’ hand, brings down a single ringing hammer’s blow; How strong the arm; Or true the spark starred strike, until his hour shall no man truly know, For test we first and all its mettle’s worth, as into our last torment each we go. And thus, in each and all remaining days, guide I each blow that blade may keener be; By word and deed to temper and to hone, this sword smith’s arm and art as fates decree; To forge an edge that might a Titan cleave, for waits no god to stoop and rescue me... Sullivan the Poet 2009 |
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| © Copyright 2009 Sullivan - All Rights Reserved | |||
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steavenr Member Elite
since 2003-11-17
Posts 4058 |
"For though took all their form by these old hands, know I too well then each will turncoat be; As in that vale of death each man must hold, and watch his days as rank deserters flee; Til naked and alone as birthed he stands, bright blade in hand aface eternity." ...my favorite stanza (btw, love your word usages in the whole write)...begs to be read aloud (with an English accent, of course)  |
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Chalmette Guy Senior Member
since 2009-03-11
Posts 1257Louisiana |
THIS is poetry I love. This is incredible. You had me from "Loath vanguard I;" Wow. I am in awe. I will be looking for all of your poems. |
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sullivanthepoet.com Member
since 2007-06-28
Posts 154Devon, England |
steavenr... Thank you - I am flattered you continue to enjoy my work... Sullivan |
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sullivanthepoet.com Member
since 2007-06-28
Posts 154Devon, England |
Chalmette... Why thank you - you are too kind! I am delighted my work reached out to you... You might be interested to know that most of my current collection may be viewed on http://www.sullivanthepoet.co.uk |
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