PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Flung west into the setting sun the rugged warrior with armor of dust covered iron and worn calloused hands dried with the blood and soot of the land.

No longer a plague, menace, or scourge of the land. He’s still a pariah from the blood that soaked his hands. War worn muscle strained and torn, yet still strong enough to keep him form a true collapse.

Struggling to stay still on knees bent mustering what’s left of pride and strength inside to keep from breaking in will, heart, and mind the humor of the gods he doesn’t find, while being blasted by the hot sands from desert winds feeling raw against bare skin.

The memory of features fair cling to his mind; Drawn from the winds battering waves delivering smells from long past days, when his conscience was clear as glass and all choices were his to the last.

Until the Great War when the sky was torn and into deistic service drawn without knowing he was now but a pawn on a board where the true fight was born from petty bickering beings of ethereal form using the fates of those yet to be born.

Serving through hundreds of years and thousands of tasks always beating the odds that others wouldn’t last, be it killing avatars or dragons rescuing old farmers and wagons even princesses from braggarts to the last.

Always overcoming finding victory where none once was for one or another just causes. The full tapestry of his actions his actions he thought of not or pause, sleeping most nights on a bed of only straw. Yet blessed with powers that left others in awe.

Tears now flow down his rugged and weary face caused by the smell carried on the wind though a scant trace, flood memories long thought buried at this place. Remembering lush fields in land now a waste lone survivor begging the dead mercy in his case.

With moon overhead, kneeling, inside begging to placate the dead all asking reasons for their tragedy, flowing from him unsaid like an open book they are read not by ancestors in his head but by the deity’s whom down this path led as the sun baked land bleeds crimson red.

Ethereal beings their war finally ceasing; looking to reward the survivors on the game board that they are now cleaning few warriors receive such an honor form those higher eyes seeing, like a forgotten thought coming into being.

Form blurry and dilated eyes did he see, what once was scabbed land a palace more magnificent than known burst forth. What once was mantled earth now pulls him forward, down into the depths he’s drawn.

A maze of corridors spun like a web to the truth and not to deceive the pawn not knowing what reward is being gathered for him to receive as the night sky cools and goes dark with the coming of the eve.

Each step brings him nearer to an unknown prize, cleaning his person as well as his soul while traveling through the corridor; the dirt and the years fall like cobwebs fall onto the floor. Restoring a noble innocence that his once was, pristine in armor and heart again warm awakening memories of a time-forgotten love to whom his heart was sworn.

A glow of youth hits his skin flush with a rapture long since repressed enwraps him in a luminosity. Removes a weight off his chest as the tome of his lost lovers body finally to his eyes find there rest, and to his ears comes a heart beat from his cherished ones chest.

Granted the prime of their youth they are given the promise of children, since now is the end of his quest and a hint of immortality when finally mortal bodies come to rest now in a castle king, once former pawn rewarded for a war into which he was drawn.

Anthony

Andrew