The Charge

The Charge

 

 

Array yourselves,

blade and bulwark,

beating on unbroken by inexorable hordes

thriving on divide and sovereignty besmirched.

Press on,

for the deadened hands

shall in the end

become the very anvil

of the forging of our unravel.

 

Beloved who stand by me,

be more fervorous than our enemies.

We drive on

wise that this noble enterprise

may cause our own demise.

Alas, until our last breath

breaks and rips and rids

us of our living death,

we shall fight on.

 

Know this!

When the virtuous dwindle,

we are the ones to bear arms

against the dark and witless

pitting a carnivorous festival.

We now become the liberation against the bombard

of which we never wished to become entangled.

 

The prosecutors pine ceaselessly,

yet cower behind contrived controllers.

A coven of cockroaches afraid of

illumination and the forgery they shoulder.

The whips of their masters forever hold them

to their wanton oaths; their tenets smolder.

 

Who then shall remain

among idle hands and faces

of a damned race?

Who then will herald the call

when doom has come

and judgement falls?

 

Shall fate make this choice?

Gone astray our natural voice,

shall all we are die and fade?

 

The means are within for us to define,

to stand patiently by or defy.

One must honestly challenge, why?

 

-J.H. Byrd