The soldier's tale

The soldier’s tale

The winds blow strong, carrying the autumn leaves of death

The soldier stands bold, waiting to let out his final breath

His back straight, his shoulders stand strong, towering over the meek

His sword polished, his shield resistant, he stands to fight for the weak

In the name of his faith he stands, in the name of his king he drinks

In the name of his people he fights, his voice spits fire like a sphinx

For his country he is ready to die, for his parturient wife he will live

Enemies brings death, his experience on the field he shall eternally give

The young boys rejoice at the sound of the first battle beneath his tent

Their foolishness he does not mock, their mothers he does lament

He crosses himself before the fight, as he stands in the frontline

The battle is over now, the boys now cry, the dogs now whine

The next day is as painful as the one before, as they sit around the fire

The wait’ is the real killer, not the enemy’s sword, their situation is dire

Winter has come, so the food has left, many shall die, many shall cry

The campaign is not over yet, the death march, as the carrion birds fly

The enemy is in sight, once more; now they shall have to fight and kill

The soldier stands, the boys too, they shall die, with or without any skill

The battle begins, as steel clashes and arrows flood the sky like the rain

The horses whinny, the lord shouts, the enemies’ attack is in total vain

The battle is over, the killing pool has been filled and drenched in blood

No more boys, they are now men, as they march through dirt and mud

Our brave soldier, once again, crosses himself over at dawn’s first light

Fixed in disbelief, shocked are the men, as they see the enemy’s flight

The word has reached far and wide, the war is over, the people rejoice

The plains have been washed in blood; the soldier has lost his voice

He now heads home, his wife awaits; table filled with food and wine

His features are now rough, a different man he is, broken is his chine

Still, he marches back with the men, no longer boys, the war happened

Their emotions lost, brains scarred for life, souls forever blackened

Nobody laughs, nobody cries. It is all over, though, what is wrong?

The war has ravaged every mans’ soul, it has raged for far too long

The final march through the forest, birds covering the fine evening sky

The leaves moving with at the rhythm of the wind, moving like fresh rye

 All is good, everything is quiet, peace is here.. what is wrong with that bush?

Wait… AMBUSH!

Confusion light up the men, like fireflies in the night, desperately trying to fly away

Swords are being pulled, but the arrow in the neck calls for more attention of the day

The soldier now stands, as swords clash and spears break on shields

He gets hit, falling to his knees he remembers his wife and his sword he still wields

Getting up he kills many a’ foe, but the second arrow gives him no mercy

He lets out a panting breath and a shrieking scream, life for him is a big controversy

Another enemy does approach, as he still stands tall and brave, for his wife and child

Strike one, strike two, strike three; You’re dead! Now he stands with a face, so mild

Blood fill the ground beneath his feet, as he falls to his knees and prays to the Lord

“Oh, dear Lord, I have served thee well. Protect my wife, so her body in heaven I won’t need to hold”

His sword- his support, the ground he shall still not kiss, thus he looks to the right

Horror fills his heart. He looks to the left. Death fills his eyes. Who will stop this blight?

He rests on his sword now, “What have I died for?” he thinks, as his face turns totally pale

Years have passed since then. Now he rests peacefully, for the people will always spread…. the soldiers’ tale.