"broadswords" poems
We lined the ridge of Senlac hill
The shield wall stood five men deep
In the autumn chill
The came at us on horse and foot
But we were the men of the Sussex weald
Men who would not yealed
Our shields now hacked and broken
Bodies bloodied bruised and sore
But we the housecarles of the English King
Would stand and fight the war
Prince William came with his aray the English crown to take
But we the men of Sussex
Would many French bones break
Alas our shield wall has broken
Kentish men on the right have charged
They sought to cut the Norman line
And so the men of Kent did die
The French now archers did deploy
With bitter arows fired high
Harold, our king, our leige Lord
Took an arrow in his eye
We gathered round his body
We men of the Sussex Weald
Our king was dead, the battle lost
But Sussex men don't yeald
The shield wall now in disaray
Large gaps now opened up
Brave men now die before the spear
From the broadswords vicious cut
And so we died on Senlac ridge
But there were no wounds in our backs
We died for England's glory
Cut down by spear and axe
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 6:55 PM UTC
To Battle!
To battle they flew.
Broadswords in hands.
Wings open fully.
Standing ***** in glory.
With broadswords swinging.
As they lash the clouds.
Creating joint forces of thunder and lightning.
Bruising the sky.
Making it ebony rich.
They will ****
Any who stand in their way.
Will decimate a million images.
Presented to their eyes.
The end of war is near.
Their word is spoken.
It is their final will.
A testimony to the work of angels.
Seraphim and cherubim.
Stand to protect their unholy comrades.
Full camaraderie.
Brothers in arms.
Wings extended in protection.
Guarding world from extinction by idiotic men and their stupidity.
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Sep 17, 2013
Sep 17, 2013 at 10:17 AM UTC
Raw and bleeding,
Weak and needing,
The arms of stronger love,
White and red,
Skin is shed,
Gnawing away again,
Transparent shards of glass,
Cut deep from other’s bursting heart,
Blood long turned brown,
Still staining the ground,
At the feet
Of One,
Who,
Hurting,
Crying,
Changing,
Running,
Towards the Source,
Beauty,
Runs down in pools of water,
From a holy heart,
Mixing with the gore,
Like watercolor,
Shows a different scene,
A banner in the war,
Over all the carnage,
It took to get there,
Strength in every skirmish,
Broadswords only given,
To the killer of giants,
Bearer of most pain and weight,
Likeliest to casualty,
A favorite of Glory,
Sun so bright,
Off boots and mail,
He will not fail,
But Save,
And win,
And Raise,
The banner of blood,
As much of his as other’s.
And make more,
Lovers of Light.
Oct 12, 2014
Oct 12, 2014 at 6:15 PM UTC
When concerning sculptures,
patience and skill are vital,
since many amateurs will boast
their cracked wooden carvings,
constructed carelessly with
dull, heavy broadswords
flung in random directions,
but only an expert
can transpose the beauty
of life-bearing flesh
onto cold, hard marble
using only the simple, strict strikes
of a small chisel and hammer.
Apr 7, 2016
Apr 7, 2016 at 12:43 AM UTC
I can't breath around you
Because deep breaths fill my lungs with an aroma that overwhelms me
And because emotions that awaken because of you have taken a home within my heart and haven't made room for air yet
I can't stand around you
Because my knees quiver with thoughts of your face
My head drifts into your deep ocean eyes
And butterflies try to escape threw my thoughts and only come out in stutters
I can't think around you
Because the stories that are strung between your silk lips dance to the melody of my eardrums
leaving me in a confused state of awe
And I can't hold your hand
Because you fear they'll remove it
like were thieves at a market
And I can't kiss you
Because you fear creeping eyes
ready to sink their fangs into the rumors
And I can't say I love you
Because you fear the whisper
running around changing tales into reality within our piers
And we can never be together
Even though the people who matter
Stand ready with their broadswords
To fight the devils that follow us home
Even if their fire breath rains down like
missiles exploding at our feat
leaving burns Of the third degree
melting away our flesh
and exposing our bone
At Least they'll see that inside we are the same
But that doesn't matter to you
And if you never learn to care
I can't stand to be with you
Jul 8, 2014
Jul 8, 2014 at 9:57 PM UTC
I can feel your little bites, like parasites
breaking down effervescent days
into still, silent nights; prying porous flesh
with the scent of death,
lingering in cratered moonlit breath.
Is this where i was meant to be led,
repeatedly fed, to these hungered hands?
again, my feet scrape this familiar path
wearing down the dirt that buries me,
internally. covering everything that hurts,
so i can never be allowed to scream.
split my lungs and let them seep,
release all i have held in when i breathe;
weak waves and shallow water
my song is carried, but still, it falters.
feel my microscopic actions and
minuscule movements
as i crawl between your flesh
robbing you of nutrients;
trying to survive and thrive, like little
parasites
Creepy crawlers, horrors, and lawyers
keep enforcing these busted borders.
They're stalking my chalk lines;
exploring the fine folds where time slows
And my songbirds carry broadswords,
so it's good morning, Deathblows
every time the pendulum tolls.
My silhouette is wedged between
two threads protruding from my neck
and Beelzebub possessed the helm just
to twist my alphabet into a triple threat,
so when I speak the receiver has
to navigate an end-game quest.
But I promise I'll do my best
against these wretched guests
so long as you heed my request
and enjoy yourself no matter
where the road lays etched.
-SLuR & S.K.G.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 1:55 PM UTC