Little Boy

 On bended knee, though battle-marred, looks down –
 Upon the one he swore till death defend.
 His blood-stained hands have failed him and the frown
 Of Why? Confusion o’r his tiny friend,
 Whose fading heart; this dirge to drum. His end
Has come, but unexpected – ill prepared
For what had lain ahead. Their peril shared.

 For many years, the guardian had fought
 In ev’ry battle, kept the boy behind
 And always thought his own life was but naught,
 The boy was more important than his kind –
 He thought him safe. His present state of mind
Now questions every move he made for fear
Of losing him. Reality is here.

 The blood-soaked earth of mem’ry’s battle field,
 Where bravèry once sought the holy grail,
 Emblazoned words, his breast-plate ‘Never Yield’
 Together, they would conquer and assail,
 Protected by the strength of wrought chain mail.
The guardian, before the boy would stride,
And from his eyes, the slaughter he would hide.

 This day, however, Future made its stand –
 The boy would run to show that he could too,
 Protect himself from harm, but Fate’s cruel hand
 Dropped down – the signal. Then the arrows flew …
 And pierced the boy; he fell as Fate withdrew.
With helpless eyes, afraid, looks up. He cries.
His heartbeat slows – It stops … little boy dies.

 From bended knee he rises, draws his sword,
 Removes his breast-plate; thoughts of ‘Never Yield’
 Meant nothing any more. This noble lord
 Had failed, and life no more to him appealed
 He too would die upon this bloodied field.
He looks to heaven – Curse the tears that start –
And falls. His sword has pierced his gallant heart.
 
Ferrick Gray
© 2016
7.18

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