Brother
shake up like the Romans did
check for weapons
because even though i trust you to fight with me
you can trust me to commit treachery

Forged in flame
Cooled in blood
Sharpened with souls
Cleaned of crud

I pick up my sword
Pull it out of the sheath
It becomes a part of me
It's bloodlust begins to seethe

I focus on the blade before me
In it's sheen I see the battle
I envision slaying my enemies
I hear our armor rattle

On the battlefield it looks as if there are
Two behemoths fighting for dominance
Thousands of men on each side
Forming one consciousness

As we rush towards each other
A sudden moment of quiet
Then like the release of a storm
A roaring thunder to break what was silent

In that instant we clash
My soul becomes war thirsty
I lose myself in the drums of war
It drives me to an insanity

I slash with my sword,
I block with my shield
I fight beside my brothers
We will never yield

In that moment I blink
my world becomes black
I come back to myself
The fire makes a pop and crack

My skin glistens with sweat
Sitting under my tree,
Polishing my sword
No one around but me

I close my eyes and breath deep
Making myself calm once more
I have the drive and hunger
The need to go to war

Hail to Caesar now, Zeig Heil
Noble Eagle Standard flies,
Schutzstaffel in midnight legion
Disciplined long stabbing knives.
Heil to goose stepped march precision
Noble Eagle Standard soars,
Centurian’s in closed division
Screaming stukas strafe azores.
Fist to leather armour snapping
Stiff arms high in thronged salute,
Hail to Caesar sing the Legions
Zeig Heil Waffen SS brute.
Discipline of Shield defences
Stabbing lances follow swords
Clouds of arrows fill the heaven
Dachau’s ovens roast the hoards.
Winged Aquila flies the column
Wielded high as Roman’s would,
Black and white with red blood running
Swastikas where Jews once stood.
Europe caste in corpses rotting
Women screaming in the land,
Deutsch and Roman locked forever
Destroyers both, in history’s hand.*


Marshalg
In response to Anselm’s “Two Translations”
25 March 2013
On a cool and dry Autumn afternoon.

My name is Clive the Centurian
I deliver my orders stentorian
I may stamp my feet
But it’s silence I greet
So I’m off to the sanitorium
                            ljm