On through the darkness she searches the bones
Seeking the hand of her love;
Deep in the stillness, the maid searches on,
Petitioning help from above.
Onward she gropes through the flesh and the blood
Of the warriors disfigured and maimed;
She carries no hope for the life of her love -
For naught but his body she came.
To see his face and cradle his head,
Hold him close to her breast;
Shed bitter tears at her sweet love's end
And give him peaceful rest.
As dawn ascends the darkened sky
And the glow of morning breaks,
She happens upon a scene of peace -
Of death, where none awake.
Andrew is pierced by arrows, three,
David is struck by four;
She silently gives grateful thanks
He did not suffer more.
She reaches forth and takes his hand,
Her heart leaps in ecstasy!
"He is not dead! He is not dead!
His hand feels warm to me!!"
She knew she must act rapidly,
The sun was near the crest;
The hilly peaks that shadowed still
This morbid plain of death.
She broke the back of every shaft
Then pulled the rest clean through,
And taking his ankles with tightened grasp
Her strength and courage grew!
Pulling forward with all her might
They started across the plain,
A horse and portage waited there
To bring them safety, again.
Faint, a cry came from behind
A voice she knew, in fear!
"Andrew", cried the voice in pain,
"Come...die with me here."
Her mind now raced a hundred ways -
Must she return again?
Compassion and terror racked her mind,
Each vying for preference to win.
"David", whispered her own true love,
And she knew she must give in.
Yet something haunted her troubled heart,
Urged her not to stay;
Leave David to die this honorable death,
Take Andrew and run away!
"I'll not come between my love and his friend,
I would not even try;
For it would cause more grief and pain
For which I'd wont to die!"
So one by one she dragged them through
The moldering stench of hell
And safely returned to the retreatment camp
To nurse and make them well.
For days they lay near Death's cold door;
She tended to their wounds.
And tended to others, wounded sore,
Who made the grave their home.
The crusading band, now broken down,
Their cause but memory;
Now turn for home, most who remain
They taste not victory.
The commander and a few brave men
Remain and do their best
To help some in their recovery
And give others peaceful rest.
Conscious now, gaining strength
And ready to be gone,
Andrew and David share their thoughts
On war and going home.
David speaks of raising men
And returning to the fight!
Andrew's had his fill of death
"This war just isn't right."
"Your brother was no coward, son,
He fought most valiantly.
Let us avenge our Jonathan's death!
You'll change your mind, you'll see!"
"At least he's got a mind to change",
A voice comes from behind,
"That's more than you left poor Jonathan."
The maiden speaks, unkind.
"What do you mean?!" Andrew cries
With anger in his voice;
He glances between the man and the maid
And knows he must make a choice!
"MY love, your brother did not die
At the hands of an infidel",
The maiden's eyes burst forth in tears,
"T'was someone he knew well!"
David felt his heartsick curse,
His curse of blood-stained hands
And wringing them madly, he exclaimed,
"How oft must I defend?!
It is not true, I've done no wrong!
T'was Providence's will
That Jonathan would stand my way
And thus receive the kill!"
Andrew's mind now fills with rage,
"Why could I not see?
The change that's taken half your mind,
And nearly mine from me!
Now, through deceit, I'm driven far
Across this wilderness
To maim and kill these innocent lives
To set my soul at peace!!
I curse you David, I curse your breath,
May conscience tear your heart!
May your soul forever burn -
I can only mourn your loss!"
David cries in anguish deep,
Andrew prepares to leave.
The maid must bear her anger out
And turns as she makes to leave;
"You were caught up in the joy of death,
Caught up in the thrill;
That caution had escaped your hand
And Jonathan you killed!
You glory not in the cause of truth,
You do not seek God's will,
You glory not in His good grace;
You glory in the kill!!"
Deathly silent David falls
His mind recalls again
The look upon his true friend's face
As his life before him drained.
Sanity leaves his weakened frame,
Revenge is in his eye!
T'was Andrew's fault his friend is gone,
T'is Andrew's turn to die!
An evil smile forms the lips
From a vile, cankered brain
That gropes to plan young Andrew's death
With a maximum of pain!
"Let him die before my eyes
With a maximum of pain!!"
(this is an excerpt only)
Bob Curtis has been writing articles, short fiction and poetry for over 30 years. He is the managing director of http://www.people4people.blogspot.com, and is the president of Nexus Publishing, http://www.people4people.blogspot.com
For information on obtaining a complete manuscript of "The Crusader", write to http://www.people4people.blogspot.com.
affordable house cleaning Park Ridge ..Contract of DeathI heard today, the preacher say: "Daniel has... Read More
Poems have different cores, or so I believe, and can... Read More
The Goat and the Ropewhere there were devils I saw... Read More
In the Mountains of Haiti(In the City)-July is a hot... Read More
Two Poems and an Analysis ['Witness,' & 'An Old Love']WitnessMy... Read More
(The city by the bay of Northern California, near which... Read More
A Poem - By Lorraine KemberIt was a day like... Read More
Daybreak at Pikes Creek [Summer of 2005]Daybreak by Lake Superior... Read More
I never thought I would have to say GOODBYE to... Read More
Fair Andes! Thy arms reach highOf iron-woven solid stone Thu... Read More
Frog SummerSummer grows hot, for the New-blooded frogs; The bugs... Read More
Kamalakanta was born in Burdwan India in the late 18th... Read More
1) Do?a Leonor's Revenge [1627 AD]Rafael Ortiz's fate Was... Read More
Blind DesignsBorn today, gone tomorrow Like a butterfly with no... Read More
All is still; all quiet; The world seems to... Read More
Grandpa's House [The ole Real House]The house needed painting Sun-blistered... Read More
When I am climbing up, you are stepping down. When... Read More
Wars, air of AmbiguityDedicated to 1st. Lt. Laura Walker (From... Read More
Burning Autumn Leaves [1950s in St. Paul, Minnesota]My long steel... Read More
Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled tune, out of... Read More
Tale of the Brick Maker, Of San Jer?nimo, Peru... Read More
She raised me like I was her own daughter from... Read More
Atahualpa's Game [Peruvian]Sometimes, it's not wise To share your wisdom... Read More
She probably can't remember and I know I can never... Read More
Emlyn Williams Theatre, Mold, North Wales: 20th February 2003Clwyd Theatr... Read More
affordable house cleaning Mundelein ..When your life becomes unbearable And the light of... Read More
[As Told by the Last] King: it was in the... Read More
Poet Stephen B. Wiley's first book of poetry, Hero Island,... Read More
Most of my poems are written late at night, often,... Read More
Let's follow the poet to his Hell and heaven! Count... Read More
To many people contemporary poetry is a turn-off. The reason... Read More
There once lived an old man and his goodwife On... Read More
Thank youDedicated to soldiers and their loved onesFor those who... Read More
I never met a man, who could shake my hand,... Read More
I am among those who know that one never recovers... Read More
My eyes opened. I am still alive; Living on... Read More
I want to get closeI am afraid.Afraid of what... Read More
Ole Bulky JeepsThrough late summer's heat These bulky shaped jeeps... Read More
In the quiet of the arctic night- In its deep... Read More
Tale of the Brick Maker, Of San Jer?nimo, Peru... Read More
Ah! Leave the gold, wealth and landSays the Inca King?;... Read More
Five Poems from Home1) Remembering: Dorothy Parker [Dedicated to the... Read More
Ed Gallagher Dec. 11, 1907 - Sept. 5, 2004This poem... Read More
Iquitos & the Amazon Part OneIt was December 2, l959,... Read More
Isn't that what they say?But what does that mean?There's no... Read More
1) End PoemWherever you are today- Is where you were... Read More
Like a cat I slumber, blissfully unencumbered, Through eighty per... Read More
Robert Burns, a poor man, an educated man, and a... Read More
Blind DesignsBorn today, gone tomorrow Like a butterfly with no... Read More
#25The King and Delka [Split Mawkishness-on Moiromma /Part V]Sickly SentimentalityI... Read More
Poetry |