The Battle Hymn of the Scholar

On this battlefield unknown I make my final stand

The armies of ignorance stretch before me a

Untamed, unchallenged, unchecked

I clutch my pen, its fading ink a feeble blade

With which to smite a strengthening foe

Few comrades have I now

A thousand light brigade charges have failed

Swallowed up in the vastness of the enemy

Numbers do not win a battle

But they certainly help 

The helmet of wisdom I carried is dented 

From a thousand blows

But still I don it, damage aside

A final blast on Voltaire's horn

And fast we ride to meet our doom

The end of ignorance, nay the end of us

But even the ignorant remember. 

Reviews

[tworeeler]

Sad but true. Beautifully written.

[Elaenor Aisling]

Thanks!

[The Jay]

You have managed to truncate an entire story in to a short poem. Sublime. Absolutely sublime.

[None]

You are a master of mood and tone. This rings of the still contemplation before battle, and builds with its charge. Amazing write. Only suggestion: take "a" from the end of line 2. It hangs there, unneeded.

[Dean Kuch®]

There are so many wonderful lines in your piece that I don't know where to begin. Let's just say I thought that the whole thing was brilliant and leave it at that!