An old stone built tower stands above all on the skyline;
The curves of its body twisting spiral’s in the air.
The moon shines around its peak, which reaches up so very high.
It is surrounded by a castle keep,
That is an image of a burnt out nightmare.
The castle walls are in pieces, like its people,
Cannon fodder their game.
The drawbridge has fallen, but the iron gate still remains.
The shadows in the night speak of a desire to be the enemy within.
The voices of the fallen spit out their final endless scream’s.
The sound of war is upon the castle door.
No more escape for its inhabitants,
Apart from those who are fleeing through the century old tunnel.
The secret passage to a way away from all the savage.
The army continues to do battle, at the top of ladders and ramparts.
All have been affected by this battle’s damage.
The sorcerer of this cursed land,
Stands in the furthest, most high room,
Shooting lightning at the wall tops as the chaos reigns below,
Where all is doom
And in a final decisive action,
The sorcerer reads from his big black book;
The ground shakes, the fire falls and all enemy are shook
And thrown from their steeds in front of the castle gate.
In pieces they bleed and from the tops of the castle walls,
Those who are falling will never be saved.
They crash to the floor and become no more.
The sorcerer falls to his knees, exhausted of power,
But he has put an end to this midnight war.
No protection was given by the enemies armour.
Their swords and shields crashed loudly as they hit the ground.
The enemy is no longer the invading warrior;
They are all running in fear and their last sounds are all dying out.
As the sorcerer takes the final step down from his twisted tower,
He pushes open the thick oak wooden door.
As he walks out into the open air courtyard his face is a glower;
No living enemy can be seen, because the enemy are no more.
His men are all cheering and shouting his name,
But the sorcerer is not laughing with them, for he has a plan.
He tells them this morrow they will all fight again,
So they must all prepare to once more stand.
Some voices of discontent whisper within the ranks;
Some of them openly criticize his view.
As he creates a ball of flame that hovers above the palm of his hand,
They all realize he has been their antihero
And he could be their demise too…if he chooses to.
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.