ok so it's pissing me off. the stupid thing makes the poem below look retarded cause the lines don't quite match up and I don't know how to extend the borders to make them even, so it's not going to look right, which is important because the layout of the sentences lends itself to the way in which you are supposed to read the poem, but oh well, whatever.

Another one, forgive me...;-)

Well, here's another one I wrote awhile ago in a fit of Musing.

It's called "And so then, they followed..."

"Walking towards that which is hidden,

Forward to the fate who is his companion so dear.

Unknowing thoughts lie behind, forever lost on this path that twines,

what he was and forever shall be, What he was made and who he shall be.

How bold and brave and gallant you see, for he knows not to where he leads.

A war he fights, ever pushing forward through that which he fights,

Unknown to you and to me.

A fate drives him forward, See? Look in his eyes,

A fate drives him forward till the day that he dies.

So far has he gone so little to tell, 'What?' cries the Rose, 'could deserve a fate so fell?'

Well my Enchanter, should you not know? You who drives away the winter and snow.

This man you see, can you not tell, is under the fate of one escaping from Hell.

He pushes onward you see, till his once known life he no longer can see.

His feet have trodden many a road, a vagabond, a ragamuffin, very far from home.

His trials, no one may know, but they have shaped and chiseled until he is stone.

This road that he walks may be his tomb, for the fate that he follows is a fell doom.

A fate drives him forward, See? Look in his eyes,

A fate drives him forward till the day that he dies.

'Arms shall I give him then,' said the Mountain Lord, 'gifts of steel and leather.

May it never be said that he passed by here unhindered.

But help him I shall and give him rest,

For who knows when he may be next put to the test.'

Nay tall Rowan, forgo your desire, the heart within our wanderer is one fed on fire.

Onward he pushes though the way grows dark,

Never does he falter, he always leaves his mark.

His sword is sharp and his shield worn well, it shall be said at the end of his days

'He swung his sword well'

Look at his face, jaw set firm, see his eyes, see how they burn?

There lies a fire unquenched, bright, fierce yet humble it is.

Look at the face that Fate has kissed.

No, he shall onward through rain and snow,

making the fire, that blessed oak pyre, always and forever grow.

A fate drives him forward, See? Look in his eyes,

A fate drives him forward till the day that he dies.

These leaders of men, petty kings all, fail to see where our stranger's footsteps fall.

Through their villages and through their woods, slowly winding through,

There he makes his way through trials, and those, not a few.

But there are men who have seen, who have felt the heat.

They tremble in awe at what this could mean.

Is there more than this?

How can they follow?

Could they possibly escape from this, their Abyss?

See the Flame of Hope kindled? Burning brighter and higher,

Slowly they wake, they shake their heads as they pass in His wake.

Slowly they turn, barely daring to see, what it has been, what has made them to see?

They look around, staring in wonder.

'Go on,' says the Mountain Lord, 'follow that man and follow him hard,

Soon you will learn who he is and how far.'

They stare after as slowly it dawns, the flame, once kindled, never is gone.

They move; they walk; the brave, they run.

They follow the same path that the stranger has come.

Forward they march, each to his way, but following each the fate of the brave.

A fate drives him forward, See? Look in his eyes,

A fate drives him forward till the day that he dies.

To battle, to the field, to death do they go, forward, marching each to his own.

Their fellows they see, knowing each and every thought that runs through these.

Of one mind, Enchanter, is it not so? "Yes, forward to the death they will go.'

To field, the fight, the battle! Go on, move on, do not ever slow!

Loyalty, faith, and in Him believe.

Swing well and true and thus you will perceive that to follow Him is never to fail;

For forever and ever will He ever prevail.

A fate drives them forward, See? Look in their eyes,

A fate drives them forward till the day that they die.

Forward they go to the fate once known, forward they go until their story is done.

He passed and showed them the flame.

He passed, and so then, they followed."

A poem about a dream I've had twice, very vivdly

This was written on Saturday, March 04, 2006 it was about a dream I had twice that was so vivid, the oppression so real that it stayed with me for days, and also, helps explain why I like guns, just kidding, but really....

But these flowers.... Dark and steep the hill is, very dark. The going is not too hard, I hold my sword at the ready, wary, so very wary, this is not safe, oh so very dangerous. Someone once believed he felt safe because he could not see his enemy, till a wise man said “It is because I can’t see him that I fear my enemy.” So true, so true. Here it is, here we are, we barely see, the hill is so very dark. Everything is so gray and dark. The hill levels off into a forest that crowns its head. It’s so dark. Slowly forward we crawl, weapons ever in front, faces behind the shield, this enemy is unknown, but felt, oh is he felt. The awful presence, the tension, building, building ever so much; alone I am now. Bah, these flowers, these so bright yellow flowers. This, above all else, tells me something is wrong. Why the yellow? Everything is dark, so very dark….but these flowers…. There is a house, I can see it now. The house is dark, no candles, no fire, no movement. But this is the place. How do I know? Presence…can you not feel it? Suppressing force, weighing on me, on my soul. If only I could know my enemy, see him face to face, I would be unafraid. This tension, this breath before the yell, this silence before the storm, this prayer before the end... Circling, I wait, circling, around and around we go, and where I stop…there’s nothing, but I can feel it. It’s here, it’s all around, and it’s coming from this house; and these flowers….

Gives me the chills just to reread it...