Ballad of the Warrior

In the glades of peace he used to walk,
The birds of heaven singing their ethereal song;
Upon the clouds of bliss he used to drift away,
With the sun and moon passing along.
In a haze of happiness the days would pass,
No count of the hours he needed to keep;
Priceless were the hours that he spent then,
Immersed in his mirth so deep.


But the peace was not to last long,
As the twilight fades into the night;
The dream would have broken one day,
Lost would be the vistas so bright.
Forth came the armies of despair,
Clanging of war on their black shields;
Darkening azure skies as they ventured along,
Wilting underneath lay the green fields.


For a moment helpless was he,
The gathering storm overwhelmed him;
Tears of blood did he shed,
To see his world thus wasted around him.
But time it was not for despair,
That in his heart he knew;
Giving up is for the cowards,
The bold and the brave are few.


So picked up he the sword and shield,
And gave a mighty war cry;
That the very darkness trembled awhile,
The courage from their hearts did fly.
Undaunted he went along,
To face his fate all alone;
Friends forsook him in his hour of need,
To the winds was their solidarity blown.


But hope had he in his heart of hearts,
That he would change the world again;
Returned will be the birds that had gone,
Gone will be the tears and pain.
So fought he in the vale of sorrow,
His bright sword grew red in slaughter;
He was beaten to the ground for countless times,
In his ears rang the enemies’ cold laughter.


Deep were the wounds inflicted upon him,
His blood drenched the cursed soil;
But still his blade flashed and slashed,
From his wrath his enemies recoiled.
The sun sank blood red upon the fields,
The stench of death filled the air;
But still stood he in the vale of death,
And his foes cowered underneath his glare.


Fled the rest of the abominable armies,
The crescent moon rose in peace;
Serene lay the lands underneath,
As though in ignorant bliss.
And then he roamed the glades again,
Time healed his wounds so grave;
Healed were all the desecrated lands,
Which from the clutches of evil did he save.


And now sings he in the vale of peace,
The birds do join him in unison;
Never did despair touch him again,
As the river of time flowed on.
His sword, however, he keeps keen
In memory of the cursed days;
So as never to forget what it took
To make his world a better place.