Friday, December 9, 2016

The Lords

The horses gallop in the mists,
transporting messages of war,
the trumpets echo o'er the hills,
and innocent to Gods implore.

Behind the wall's notches the Lords,
stare at the fires in the dark,
the stallions, impatient, snort
meanwhile non-combatants depart.

From mountain-tall descends the brave,
adjudging wrought his double axe,
he sends the enemies to grave,
barbarians to mortal stacks.

Along with him invades the force
of soldiers killed and bridal maids,
they sway the swords without remorse
to massacre the drove by blade.

Behind the wall's notches the Lords,
hark to the galloping of hoofs,
in armor wrought invade the hordes
inside the smoke of burning roofs.

© 2016-12-09 G. Venetopoulos, All rights reserved
(Iambic tetrameter)