The oppressed

It was twilight mist hung over the valley when I saw the big horse
on a knoll was a warrior, a charger, looking toward the east.
I mounted, and we flew to the land of hatred, the mount neighed
stamped its hooves ready for battle.
When the soldiers, who're moral had become rancid, saw us two,
they throw weaponry away fled to the silent fortification and wailed
in terror,  for the first time in 70 years there was peace.

The store- keeper soul, of the enemy of concord, wasn't happy there
were murmurs in the ranks, they had wanted a higher percentage.
I was standing by a yellow sandstone rock, dreaming the impossible,
it is the only future the hassled people have, for now, but are patient
and will never leave their beloved land