Bard Poems Page 1
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The Plain of Bloody Tears - Writen By: Trahe
The battle began, the flights were launched as the horses ran.
The banners unfurled, snapping and popping.
Iron men on iron shrouded mounts with long metal lances canting,
screaming to the clear sky as their war dogs ran panting.
Their sheilds held loosely, they charged with no thought of stopping.
The ground trembled, the swaying grasses trampled, the hidden creatures
dying, the distance closing, the enemy nearing, the horses flying.
Onward they sped, death and destiny ahead.
With muscles clinched, hearts pounding, the men engaged, most slaying,
turning, twisting, striking, screaming, the enemy line was soon collapsing.
Their weapons killing, maiming, swiftly turning red.
The charge was blunted by green-clad bodies, the iron men on their iron horses,
with their blood soaked weapons turned, then charged again.
The dirt of the field, bllod-red, was littered with the dying and the dead.
Twice, thrice the clash of the charge resounded across the plain,
the screaming now only moaning, the rising sun drying voices and parching all the same.
Survivors running without their dead, the cool safety of the forest ahead.
Horses nearing, survivors running, gaining safety with bows awaiting, the iron men without their iron horses entered the forest with the survivors now hunting.
Elven archers in the forest darkening, swiftly climbing to the safety above.
Iron men running, scrambling, falling, surviving, mount their ironclad horses weeping, galloping away, away from the forest and the dying.
Blood and death, honor and dishonor, victor and loser...
until tomorrow.
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Knowledge - Writen By: DarkDream
A pink mist floats into the air,
The scent of blood upon it;
For him life had never been fair,
It was time that someone took it.
His hands tied up behind his back,
A bullet fired through his head.
Looking like meat tied and on the rack,
And just like the meat he is dead.
He questioned too much,
He had asked for it,
He knew too much,
And he knew it.
He had expected his late night visitors,
They had come in robed in black.
They told him they were poll inquisitors,
But he knew the secret behind their mask.
He put up no resistance,
He knew what they would do.
They noticed not that they needed no persistence,
They knew not what he would do.
He died with a child’s smile,
One that cared not of the blame.
There would never be not a common trial,
But instead the house exploded into flames.
The trial had ended,
The murders had been punished.
And the man whom they condescended,
He had had the last laugh!
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Last Stand - Writen By: DarkDream
His blood flowed freely from his hands,
But he would die like a man.
He breathed in deep the battle-beaten wind,
He hated the scent of the blood in the wind,
It was of his loyal soldiers who would not win.
Out in front of the castle gate,
There he would meet his fate.
He drove a pole into the ground,
He pounded it deep into the ground.
He tied himself to it so that he may die standing,
And not become a corpse upon the ground.
He cleaved the cavalry with his sword,
Cut them like a woodsman’s axe through a board.
But when so many fell upon him,
He was torn limb from limb.
And all that was ever left of him,
Was his torso still tied to the pole
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