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Amid the black and blue battered and bruised bodies,

A warrior stands alone,

Counselling, fighting and wielding the Sword of the Spirit..

A call to arms by the General of The Heavens, and the earth,

A man of corporeal form, flesh and blood,

Yet crucified to the carnage of the world,

Reborn and restored by the eternal glowing torch of royal lineage,

The Warrior Poet stands alone,

A stranger to all that is perceived to be known.

The Warrior Poet, a hero of some renown,

In places but those of hearth and home,

An arm outstretched strained yet sure,

Possessor, guardian and wielder of the sacred talisman of creation,

The Word powerful to the pulling down of strongholds,

Setting an eternal flame under all those with ears to hear,

And all those willing to feel the burn.

Battle-wearied, bloody and torn, the time had come to be reborn,

A baptism of fire and water, tears and flame,

That put to the sword the guilt and the shame,

Redeemed and restored like a lost gold coin,

Polished and gleaming and set to re-join,

The raging war in a land bound by time,

The Warrior Poet, come hail or shine.

Boundless and ageless, fair yet on fire,

Emerald glowing embers burning through the windows of the soul,

For king and for country, for hearth and home,

The Warrior Poet a vessel of Peace,

The pen is the sword is his power released..

Hell cannot tame him,

Nor demons nor thrones,

The Holy Wind at his back gives strength to his bones,

The Warrior Poet has answered the call,

For king and for country, for great and for small.

The darkness has fallen but his light shines ever bright,

HIs truth echoes far and gives hope in the night,

To souls who in darkness, remember their call,

For king and for country, for great and for small.

The End


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