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Rated: E · Poetry · War · #2219436
The battle lines are drawn.
Tree of Spears

On hilltops sun gleam,
beginning of dawn.
The eye took in beam,
slim narrow and long.
Off ground rising steam,
masked armour and braun.
I thought it was dream,
and then it was gone.
Kings survey the scene,
by playing a pawn.
And then could be seen,
all things that were wrong.
The masses would deem,
their battle lines drawn.
There’s echoing scream,
like nightmarish song.
Then death was the theme,
till all foes were gone.

And then I awake,
all covered in blood.
There beside the lake,
I laid in the mud.
My life; could not take,
no matter the flood.
The arrows would break,
hit ground with a thud.
I slithered like snake,
what hit me was dud.
The banner; I steak,
by trees blooming bud,
once planted to make,
Spears covered in stud.
Then foe could not fake,
there; battle was won.
No longer ground shake,
at setting of sun.


156 words
36 lines

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