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Soap Box Poets

The Warrior’s Gift
© by Aaron Cornett

Destiny stands ready in the dawning sun
Bringing the struggle against an unknown enemy.
From a battle we come, to a battle we ride
To find God’s glory in this foreign land.

We march onward, fate makes all paths clear
For such men compelled by claims of victory
The hands of time are tied for this chosen day
With soldiers leaving no souls to steal.

The day is shattered with cries of the wounded
And dying, golden skies darkened with falling arrows.
Ancient winds are captured in the unfurled banners
Showing distant nobility of king and country.

Steel against steel, we continue on over the
Bodies of the fallen dead on blood-soaked grounds.
Acts of the saints control me from an ancient past
Of violence and blood, fortune and pain.

From a score of sharp blades comes the end of
The day our silent Gods should never have left alone.
Much of the blood is my own, and with a shuddering
Breath, I reach with my mind to see I am dying.

We die where we stand and become tomorrow’s story
Of a war of kings, pawns of an eternal game.
There is a terrible silence as my last seconds
Allow peace to gently settle on my still form.

We stumble through chaos and fall into eternity
Where angels sing and dance with our wayward sons.
My fallen brethren stake all claims to my soul
Where it is too hard to break, too hard to hold.

Some are compelled to war for the peace it may bring
As a last gift to our coming sons and daughters.
And still we fight on, if only for the nameless
Eternity that each man may find on the battlefield.

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