My Poetry

The Flame
 A poem

 A ship carried me across the sea to a foreign isle.
A shield rested heavy on my back,
 A sword of iron belted to my side.
 This is not the age of the plowshare,
 For they have all been beaten into swords. 
Of all things that lead men to draw blades against one another,
 Of all the ideologies of mankind,
 I draw my sword and raise my shield against the most basic things.

I land on the rocky coast of a foreign land,
Another’s home.
I know nothing of those who live here,
Except that they are sons of Adam, Daughters of Eve.
I see not this foreign land’s culture,
Nothing of their past.
I merely burn and ruin.
I draw iron against my fellow man
The plowshare has failed me.
I step onto the beach with men I call brothers and comrades,
And by which they also call me.
We move inland as a swarm.
Feared by those whom we deem too small be worth stopping for.
The life of a raider is stark and direct with the consequences of your actions.
In my time of landing on foreign beaches and putting the sword in men like me,
I am feared and hunted.
I light a fire.
I cannot put it out,
As long as men draw breath and till the earth for a living,
I kindle the flame