Flying blood,
The warrior stands,
A mountain, in the mists of time.
One day—tall and insurmountable,
Another, worn and bare,
A tale of another day,
Now just dust and bone.
Do not cry,
Do not woe,
Claims the strong one,
Who stands on his own.
I will live forever.
Lies on the lips of the young.
© 2012 Clifton Hill, all rights reserved.
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The muse struck and gave me a series of poetry in an epic fantasy vein. Look for more to come, each Friday, for a while.
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