After battle

Battle. Arrows. Cart.
Horses. Bloody bodkins. Sword.
Warriors howl hard.
Corpses in the nightfall rot.

Braveness never wineth
In War of courage and dismay
But it showest sins…
Medieval soldier heareth me pray.

I searched for Him and tore-
He was near my burning dress.
“What hast thou come for?”
“I has come here to be blessed”.

He touched me with his gore-
I admired unblemished soul..
He hath remained in lore.
Now I hear doombell to toll!

“I shall pray for thee,
Watch orisons of thy lone…”
Like Seraph I see
Every fever of his moan.

I found him on field
And I shall lose him so soon…
Warrior is killed
By ashen light of grieving Moon.

For his King he wrought,
Holding his evoted faith,
Putting life he fought
Loved Ruler more than God’s saint face.

Now he lieth dead.
This bloodthirsty war stopped soon.
Alive King is sad-
Looketh at cruel crimson Moon.

He hath lost brave boys
That did love him like their God.
Warriors made choise-
They lie in ground with their swords.

Hearken – the death creepeth,
Thou shalt perish, but before
Thou shalt kiss my lips
Covered with thy saint gore.