Saturday, April 16, 2011


In the knoll, crouched in wait,
Soon hordes will show their face,

From over the ridge, dimensions unwind,

Out from the skyline, the forms emerge,

Down like spawns of plague filled words
Escaping, in retreat from their keepers sleep

They care but for themselves,
Severing fierce with no voice to halt,

Their blood lust and rumbling through our lives,

Ready though, we sit and wait,

Archers, we, anticipate,
Deadliest approach; strange are these beast,

Quivered hands and steeled arrow,
We are Archers, We repeat

To the sky, the desperation of a world descry
If we fail, I will not see,

We are Archers, alive or dead,
A last defense for man to live

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