this I know

Poem written by Dnavarre on Monday 20, April 2009

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an epic poem

Overall Rating: 89%

This writing has been rated by 1 members, resulting in a rating of 89% overall. Below is a breakdown of these results:

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I hear the shadows breaking, like waves upon the shore, it screams like a siren, and the shadow knows no more. I hear the darkness burning, stabbed by swords of light, it roars in cries of anguish, and finally gives up the fight. I hear the night ending, as the sun crawls ahead, I cannot wait to be back home, feasting on meat and mead. I tear across the land, each footstep like a cloud, though it feels so soft, it is thunderously loud. The blood sinks in to me, but I do not stop to clean, I try to hide from worshipers, I try not to be seen. The monsters still rise before me, though their master's defeated, they will not stop fighting, until I am seated. Atop a throne of gold, with an army at my hands, until this happens they will not stop, until I own the lands. But I am not a king's son, I can barely hold a sword, but I survived the battle, I thank our own great lord. My wife and kid are waiting, though age will have quick changed them, I will must place stitch after stitch, to the time between has been hemmed. On the floor I'll lay my sword, on the ground I'll place my armor, so I can again live lightly, as a simple farmer. The lord has seen my through this, but why I do not know, the lord has planted strange seeds, And I was just one sewn. A simple man I was born, a simple man I wish to be, but I look and just then learn, it was not meant to be. My house, it lies in flames, my memories are all left, only just those faces, those faces and their names. I cannot stand what I feel, a pain that comes with loss, I try and lie down to sleep, but all night I turn and toss. With dried tears across my face, dirt cut clean through, who would have thought these memories would have been so few? All those years feel wasted, both of the war and before, all those thoughts so striking, like death a thousand times more. The hero was supposed to go home happy, supposed to live a life of joy, but now I'm pained in every way, and feel like the lord's used toy. Like a chess piece, like a pawn, turned into a knight, like a weak one turned into a hero born to fight. And then a knight, to a pawn once more, a hero to a hobo, begging, knees on the floor. I fled to the docks, sell my armor for a trip, fled across the ocean, gave humanity the slip. I lived in the mountains, in the forests, in the caves, I lived everywhere, but still memories came. I cried to sleep at night, I dreamed dreams of pain, I wake at the crack of dawn, and quickly became insane. I buried my sword in a stone, so that nobody would know, I kept from the few humans there, because I was still lying low. The monsters of that dead one, his blood-feasting people, took over the old land, proclaimed a king, and he ruled from a spire steeple. The stories reached even me, in my hiding places, from those gossiping girls, with grim looks on their faces. I took the stone, and reclaimed my sword, I had sworn to protect the land, and I was a man of my word. With no money to buy a ship, I swam across the ocean. It took a hard long time, but possible with a potion. A potion I bought from a witch, back in Maronthee for just looking like I did, she donated it to me. For no good reason she said, just because, she said, the great lord told her, he put it in her head. I took to the steeple, fighting as I went, taking looks at the land, and the death they had rent. Cities and towns no longer stood, ten years had been too much, those places now were toppled, and bad places stood, I though such. I raced to the tower, I charged to the top, and killed their king right there, with not one drop of my blood dropped. His cries resembled what I heard when the shadow died, his body looked much like the darkness when life remaining away sighed. I could hear the shouts of protest, of the creatures below, but I was still a hero, this I know. The pain that I had lived through, the pain that I had dealt, had risen to this spot, and that feeling I had felt. That feeling of completion, when the lord's hand pat my head, I took that bloody sword in hand, and gave myself to the dead. The creatures fell as people rose, come to reclaim their land, in there stood the witch, smiling behind her hand. She wished me good like, in the afterlife, and the earthly demons were cut, like bread with a knife. I sighed away the pain, knowing it would not last, I sighed away the memories, I put to rest the past. My wife would soon be there, my son at her side, and when that moment came, I was happy I had died.

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    Really well done! good job!