He wrenched his spear from the man below,
It had gutted the soldier in his previous throw,
The wounded man did then yelp with a gasp,
As the blade rung out with a shimmering rasp.
His men were still with him but his commander lay dead,
An enemy soldier had picked off his head,
The charge had seemed worth it with the enemy weak,
But now words of victory no-one did speak.
A look at the battle showed tides were not good,
Their army had lost more men than they should,
And now they all routed; or were cut down alone,
The seed of their defeat had now surely been sewn.
The unit rallied up together; his allies sensing too,
That they would not survive this day with their number so few.
Their horses breath was heavy; their last charge had been long,
And now stood only 50 of the previous 200 strong.
As he gazed upon the fields he began to feel such dread,
Never again would this soldiers feel the safety of his bed,
Or drink a smooth cold ale; Nor feel his wifes soft skin,
His fate in life had now been shown, the end was drawing in.
Yet despite all this the men weren't scared,
Their motto had been "To those who Dared",
As many times had stories been told,
Of the knights of their order in legends of old.
Tales of bravery; of death and of glory,
A charge of men and horses befitting any story,
And the soldier smiled to himself; perhaps their day had come,
To charge home in fury to the beat of the war drum.
He called to his friends as he took command,
Of this small contingent who no longer looked grand,
But bloodied and battered they still sat proud,
No self pity here nor fear allowed.
And so with kick; and a pat of his horse,
He nudged forwards towards the enemy force,
Who fixed their attention fixed on the cavalry alone,
The rest of their foes dead or dying with a moan.
Thousands of soldiers turned to face,
These few brave men who increased their pace,
Archers formed up; then five walls of spear,
The type of combination that in cavalry struck fear.
Yet the soldier yelled out; and so did his kin,
A roar of defiance from that line so thin,
Doomed though they were the spectacle shone,
Like a beacon of light that grew as it came on.
The canter grew to gallop; and then on to full speed,
Their voices grew loud and their horses did heed,
That this was their last stand; their lifes final flourish,
And atleast the first few enemies they would punish.
The last few yards seemed like an age; like time itself had stopped,
He watched in awe as the first of his men was dropped,
An arrowhead flew through his eye and his body fell,
Then several others became the same fate aswell.
The end of the scene played out in a flash,
The bodies of both sides did finally clash,
And the horse and rider were both killed outright,
In all but a heartbeat there ended the fight.
All of them slain; dead to the last.
They had rolled the dice and their fates had been cast.
I like to think that after death you can look back on your story,
And that those brave men could sit and smile at a tale of grace and glory.
After all, we're all dead men, I hope; infact I wish,
To be brave in my final acts and achieve something like this.
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing
