"Tears of blood streak my face something gruesome
I'll be back come winter
Autumn creaks ever forth
Why must my eyes tilt to rain clouds?"
Plated in silver armor
He stands back against the horizon
A cross made of blood marks his helm's forehead
A torn cloth draped diagonal across his chest
Bearing the shield of his family
2 handed great sword in hand
This is where he takes his stand
As the mages fireball creases the air
Warping it around its heated body
The knight gracefully moves his body weight
Dodging the crimson sphere
The archers arrow snags his shoulder
Snapping upon its heat treated frame
Without a moments pass he brings high
Lifting his sword into the ocean of air
Ripping it in two as the sword barrels down
Severing the head from its shoulders cradle
The mage drops to his knee
As his head rolls across the ground in flee
From behind a dagger catches his eye
With this the knight swoops his hand down
Grabbing the rogues arm and snapping it
A single motion without falter.
Rogue now groping for the knights throat
Screeching in incoherent babbling
Suddenly, without warning
Another arrow caresses the wind
The knight swings the rogue
catching the arrow with his meaty flesh
Piercing through his lung coughing up blood
As his head makes contact with the stone floor
The knight a paragon of horror
Looking at the helpless archer.
The archer without a tinge of fear in his face
Draws his final arrow
He draws his bow notching the arrow
Next thing he knows
One of his friends daggers is now planted
Straight between his eyes
His final sight as death claims his corpse
An extended arm of the Silver knight.
-Axel
YOU ARE READING
The Group Project
PoetryA project of random poems by Salem (me), Axel, Bishop and Jack. Maybe some guest appearances every so often.
