A Soldier's Death
by Rohan

My sandal's thongs dig into my flesh,
My sword and I have seemed to mesh,
Blood blinds me as it drips on me eyes,
I'm all consumed with the wounded's cries.
My muscles ache, my body screams,
I'm half delerious with fevered dreams,
But there is still a smile upon my face,
My battle cry is screamed with grace.
A song is sung inside my breast.
As I plunge through this final test.
And even though I know I'm dead.
I allow myself no sadness nor dread.
And when I finally must admit defeat.
I know I'll take it, upon my feet.
I feel the splitting in my plate of steel.
I'm surprised at how little I can feel.
The spear found home, but I will not.
On this battlefield my body will rot.
My blood shall fertilize the grass to grow.
But will the people who pass here know?
My name dies with me, and my story.
All that lives, is death and glory.

By Rohan

"The Ubar watches."
by Rohan

I watched the sea of men before me,
Arranged below the hill.
I saw them fight, and die, and flee,
Yet not a one, have I killed.
My eyes remained totally fixed,
Upon that gruesome scene.
The generals around me with armour slicked,
Had the luxury of staying clean.
That man, there, with the spear in his breast.
I knew him as a child.
Of all my friends, he was the best.
Together we both ran wild.
Yet fate has its way of changing things,
And we were to grow apart.
He turned warrior, and I turned King,
Connected only by the heart.
I have no time to shed a mournful tear,
For my dear friend's last breath.
All I can do, is stand and stare,
As my men make the work of death.
The sun grows low, and darkness comes,
To this field of mud and mire.
Yet still the battle rages on and on,
The circumstances growing dire.
A general looks into my eyes,
And, "Ubar", he seems to shout.
"I have information from our spies,
And soon it may be a rout."
I fix on him my baleful gaze,
And rumble from in my chest.
"We've fought here for seven days,
And we'll fight until our deaths."
"The key to winning wars, my lad,
Is not just more men, and swords.
It's knowing yourself, and where you stand.
And never succumbing to the horde."
"Now go out there and fight, you sleen!
We need every sword at hand,
May your spear cast true, your steel be keen,
And we shall win this land!"
With that, I turned my back on him,
And shambled to my sleeping roll.
The day was long, my patience thin,
And the hours take their toll.
My eyes close easily, and sleep does come,
But what sleep can be truly had in war?
For until I know the battle's won,
My eyes will be open ever more.

By Rohan.