Attila the Hun, A Master of War.

From Northern Asia,
decends a horde,
so vast in number,
the very earth shakes.
From the steppes they,
sweep down,
Crushing all that satnd
before.
Like a relentless fever,
they strike down
all.
The Western Empire
stands ready with a
shield.
Waithing to weather the
Hunnic Horde.
The shield lies broken.
The gateway
open.
Soon Rome itself,
may very well fall.
It is not swords
that will stop this
horde.
For Attila is a
master of
war.
It is a simple man,
one of the cloth.
That saves the Empire
from,
Attila the Huns
Unstoppable
Horde.

East and West a Clash of Faiths

Two sides meet,
on the desert plains.
Acity between them,
that they have both,
laid claim.
The people look on,
in silence and awe.
Two armies have come
to claim this city.
Two leaders have come
to secure theri claim.
Both kings of their
land.
Titans of their
time.
One leads the East.
The other the West.
Two worlds colloide,
on the desert sand.
Two faiths, two beliefs
are put to the test.
The Western world is lead,
by The Lionheart,
While Sal-ah-adin,
leads the Eastern
faith.
The Iron Men of the
West,
face the Horsemen of the
East.
The sun rises over the lan.
So commences,
the battle for,
The Holy Land.

Over the Top

The bugle sounds,
the soldiers sise,
from the hellish trenches,
to the wind swept plains.
New men arrive,
full of boyish joy,
they join the line of beaten
souls,
of walking dead,
that were once,
like them.
The bugle sounds,
they line up in rows.
Ready to charge,
their deadly foe.
Over the Top,
the papers say.
An early grave,
is all the soldiers
see.
"Take the fight to the
enemy.
See the whites of their,
eyes."
More like the shells,
from their guns,
as they fire through our,
Line.
The Bugle sounds.
They rise as
One.

Ray's of Life

With dawn it comes,
over the rolling hills,
expelling the
dark
and replacing it with day.
Its blaze is revealing,
it burns through the
haze,
showing the beauty and
wonder that lies
in wait for its,
awakenig ray.
It is an orb of hope,
a cure for the dark.
It was worshiped for
power, to return
a new.
To expel the darkness
that flows in its
wake.
Its our life, our hope,
our nightly prayer
that with the turning of
the world,
it will rise again
with its life giving
ray's.

Fly Away Peter Poem

Fly away peter,
fly away paul,
there go the Aussies
off to war.
Upon their ships of
iron and wood,
they sail to the land
where the battle
unfolds.
To the trenches
they go,
with spirits high,
not looking back,
to eager to prove.
They fight and,
they fall,
in all parts of
this war.
Yet more surge forward
from a nation enraged.
These men,
these heroes fight
another mans
war.
Come back Peter,
but where is
Paul?

The Mistakes of our Fathers

With the dawn of
the day
comes the rising
sun.
Bathing the land
with hope and light.
Giving life with each ray.
But with its height
it reveals a
horrible scene,
a black land of
destruction,
where no hope
exists.
In this dark land
live
the dead.
Changing life into
Desolation.
The surface is,
ripped,
torn
and burnt.
Nothing Lives,
everything
falls.
It starts with the feuding
of the old,
they send the young,
to finish what they
begun.
It buries the land
in a deathly
haze.
So many
enter,
yet so little,
leave.

The Guardian of Time

Hwen from stone
and covered by ages,
revealed to the world
by the winds that
concealed you.
The body of a lion,
wings of an eagle,
the tail of an ox
and the head of a
man
that wishes to be a
God.
Your purpose unknown,
your mission a secrete,
oh the riddles you hold,
the mysteries you guard.
Always crouching,
ready to strike
a silent guradian throughout
the ages.
You stand in front
of the pyramids
you guard, never striking,
always watching.
Plaguing your gazes
with riddles and
clues,
yet never revaeling
your mystery.
The Guardian Sphinx
a sentinal of old,
your gaze never
wavers,
as you watch over
the land,
that gave you
birth.