Monday, 27 April 2015

A Tarnished Silver Dove

He was no hero, when was called to arms
By distant strife and war far from his farm.
Yet he took arms to save all that he held
Most precious in this world - for so he felt
That if he stayed behind to tend his home
Too soon he would but find himself alone.
When all was lost in battles far away
What matter then his land that he might stay.
This place that he had always called his own
Would now remain until he could return.

With gentle care did he prepare his pack
With only what was needed on his back.
The most precious items he always kept
Close to his heart. His mind could not be swept
Of memories and love that did abound
Collected over years, from all around.
But still he had one token of her love -
Next to his heart a tarnished silver dove.
'twas in her name he went away to fight
Thinking maybe now to put things right.
For long ago he made a choice and found
That once 'twas made could never be unwound.
And since that fateful night he turned aside
From pleasures that would take him from his mind.

So off he went to fight against a foe
Far distant to him. Who, he did not know.
Sufficient to him was it that he must
Go to war. His Lord he now would trust
To spend his life wisely. His one request
That there would be some purpose to his death.
Silently he joined with dozens more
His worn and dirty clothes were all he wore.
The weapons that they wielded barely shined
So old and rusty. Yet no one declined
To march as one holding their weapons high
Shouting brave defiance to the sky.
For none among them knew they would return
From this path. But not a one would turn
Betray his comrades? This no one would do
And so they marched together two by two.

On distant field two armies then did meet
The earth did shake beneath a thousand feet.
But who amongst the armies here did know
The face or name or reason of their foe.
A bloody clash. Men fought and died for hours
Until the ground seemed covered with red flowers.
The screams and cries of men sounded so loud
That rain was shaken down from high up cloud.
So in the mud the armies fought for long.
Closely matched, working out who was strong
Enough to hold the day against the foe.
Trickles became streams. Rivers did flow
Bright red for days. So villages were taught
That far away a battle had been fought.

In the bright sky now clear of clouds and rain
Far above where so many lay in pain.
Their torment clear to anyone who heard
Carried in their cries without a word.
All too soon the cries will fade away
As night falls, followed by another day
And there the brightly shining sun will find
The remnants of all those were left behind.
What grass there still remains grows fresh and green
Reminding that this field will soon be clean
With no more signs to mark the passing foes.
Only sad memories in those who know.
A splash of grey in otherwise bright sky
Can be seen, high, for any who should try
To see what most would never think to find
As they do travel through the world so blind.
And far above these blind folk, in the skies
A dove with tarnished wings of silver flies.

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