Long and many a’fourscore ago, I was Legion. I combined an arm, of many a’score of thousands,
divided into order, from division to division. I was legion with swords, bronze shields couldn’t block; and legion with arrows, steel plating couldn’t stop. I was inevitable like the sun, I was, and-
inevitable as one, and as infinite hands. A soldier was an understatement, to whom so dare call me; I was the fable in the making; a legend, was me. The battle was a ring, for fire did circle around.T’was a curious resonance; a fire that had burned, without a sound, as I sent forth my shield brothers; the very assault of war hounds. Over fire did we each gambade, up and over; I was legion, one and yet of many over flame; soldier after soldier. A glaive was but a spadroon, whatever men should call it; it was held within my hands, at the dying stroke of noon. A spur slayed like a thorn; the legion of doom-
cutting down foes, from sword after sword, as each of their faces saw death by the hordes. Inescapable sword… I was the legion that poured. Shield brothers, that wore my flag, wore a red “x” on their skulls; yay of them all, that so dare had the gull. Each feet that were laced as sandals, covered over in crimson; I was legion, I was legion! But something insidious showed it’s face, on the battle field, all faces of the dead, rose back up from their graves! Their twisted faces, skulls and peeling flesh, and the stench that was the stench, had but reeked full with death! Every foe slain, rose back up again; as every ally that was felled, fell for good and all in pain-
the enemy would rise, in where my men would stay slain..! Corpses marched, lessening the living army, as the hymns wrothing the dead; tongues sung out the song like harpies; and sirens, luring me into death, did I cut down dead heads-
their horrible eyelashes winking deviously at soldiers dead. A fourscore of legion, trying to get away; inevitable reapers, were the Army of the Decay. My shield brothers, all smitted where they each now lay dead; and me, nay to give up, my legion, my legion. Fire burned around like a cruel sphere; I was legion, without fear. And aloft the breathing, thick with red mist; rain crashed earth and poured, like the sea for the fish. Clouds grey with maddening terror, bloated out the dying sun-
Dead bones walking, in the name of the skeleton, and forked tongues covered with slobber, just like a living dead dog..! I was a fourscore o’ men, and a fourscore till the end; skull and bones in my eyes, reflecting off the dead. I took a sharp sword, name it what you will; cold steel coated in crimson, as if it bore gills. And the legion was me, that so dare this legend tell-
tell them I heard church bells, before they dragged me to hell.
Poem Story Meaning: A warrior always finds battle, but those who live
by the sword, shall die by the sword.
Copyright May 27, 2014