My Poetry

The Watchman

I hear your cry, in the dark of the night.

When darkness looms, and sleep reigns.

You say, "guard yourself!

There comes one, with the power of the winds"

"come ye all, those who live in the land

Let's make quick our steps, let's guard before we be dead"

The earth trembled, and the sound of hoofs reigned in the air.

Yet there you stood, thy eyes fastened on the enemies.

There were those who laughed thee, "go to sleep, weary one"

Said those, who lacked eyes.

They beat their chest, like some great one,

In the sight of threat.

Their pillows were their friends, and on it did they make dreams.

Yet, there you stood, like one terrible force, that will not Burge.

Thy cloak were like darkness, thy eyes as fierce as steel.

Thy hands did not tremble, and with them lifted thee the torch.

A cry comes from the east, with a voice as terrible as thunder.

His words invokes fear, in the heart of the brave.

"get thee up" he says, "now that the day is calm.

Rise, embrace thyself, for the enemy is upon you"

"Rise yet, while thy eyes are groggy.

While thou canst lift thy head.

Sit not tight, hasten thy defense.

This is a call, to wake the dead"

Thou brave soldier, the one atop the mountain.

Whose light is made ready, and will it, till the morning come.

No one has heard you, and thy calls has all past, in the air.

Alas, great slumber spread in the lands, And death looms near.

Hands will shake, when the milk has been spilled.

When eyes do behold, the cries, and death.

He cries, with a fear filled voice, he cries.

"the day of the lord is at hand"

but scorn is his reward, from those he cherish.

His blade is as sharp as his words, striking down, to the bones, those who make a prey, of the weak.

He will not sleep, ye, though arrows strike against his form, yet will he stand, and cry, to those who sleep.

Oh thou young and valiant soldier, who shall tell thy tale?

It would have been nice, had thou made haste, and escape the evil of thy people.

All thy life hast thou been a slave, thou movest not to the left nor to the right,

And on the ground, would thou not make a bed.

The wind and her queens, has come and made the a play,

she has toiled with thy bones, and flesh,

yet will thou not sleep, or let thy fingers tremble.

The sun has cast his rays on thee.

He smittest thee day and night, yet will thou not bow, and dry, like the leaves, from a tree.

Rather, thy eyes burn fierce, like the frosty hand of death, demanding his pray.

Oh thou that criest in the night,

When all has gone,

And darkness reigns

Alas, thy end shall come quickly,

Thou shall be free from thy chains.

The morning shall come, and with it a great silence.

All that thou treasures, shall lay dead,

As the carpet of leaves, on a forest ground.

But thou, thou shall look, as the past be overpast,

a new world, shall hold onto thee,

Thou shall know peace, and live, free

Thou watchman, on the mountain.