Friday, February 3, 2012

Poem: The Warrior

Thrumming steel,
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.

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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