Sword 2
The King facing the Knights
trembling a wisper of command..
Body of the boy the sword
the man..
Dust from hooves cloud the sky,
armor and shields reflect their resolve..
Eyes peering behind small slits,
their heels embedded..
The old man hearing echoes beyond the valley
the puddle at his feet rippled..
Birds at rest now needing flight,
while the sound of horses pounded the night..
Moon reflecting on helmets,
the horses came to rest..
You the harsh voice boomed..
Are you the one to tell the boy he was doomed?
But Sire ( choice was calm )
He took what wasnt his and rode off in the mist,
I told him bronze was his metal,
yet greed will take young and old..
Here Sire the one he should have taken,
the third thats always mistaken..
I'll have a look before I take your head!
hand it to me peasent..
Three I have made, Gold, Silver, Bronze..
one has been taken yet two survive.
Let not greed be the one to take you..
Bronze handed first, to a look of disgust
rusty in color its blade dull, thrown to the earth
in a cloud of dust..
Hand me the next anger muffled behind the helmet..
Kneeling the old man placing the hilt forward
worn gloves reaching, eyes aglow greed
now the moment..
Off they sped no moon at their backs..
The old man turns to pick up the bronze,
swipe on his apron and a smile..
Gold to look pretty..
Silver to shine..
But bronze the metal that conquered..
Is still what is mine..
trembling a wisper of command..
Body of the boy the sword
the man..
Dust from hooves cloud the sky,
armor and shields reflect their resolve..
Eyes peering behind small slits,
their heels embedded..
The old man hearing echoes beyond the valley
the puddle at his feet rippled..
Birds at rest now needing flight,
while the sound of horses pounded the night..
Moon reflecting on helmets,
the horses came to rest..
You the harsh voice boomed..
Are you the one to tell the boy he was doomed?
But Sire ( choice was calm )
He took what wasnt his and rode off in the mist,
I told him bronze was his metal,
yet greed will take young and old..
Here Sire the one he should have taken,
the third thats always mistaken..
I'll have a look before I take your head!
hand it to me peasent..
Three I have made, Gold, Silver, Bronze..
one has been taken yet two survive.
Let not greed be the one to take you..
Bronze handed first, to a look of disgust
rusty in color its blade dull, thrown to the earth
in a cloud of dust..
Hand me the next anger muffled behind the helmet..
Kneeling the old man placing the hilt forward
worn gloves reaching, eyes aglow greed
now the moment..
Off they sped no moon at their backs..
The old man turns to pick up the bronze,
swipe on his apron and a smile..
Gold to look pretty..
Silver to shine..
But bronze the metal that conquered..
Is still what is mine..
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