Champion

8

hell - devil's eye
Sun glitters, breath of Hell plays solemn songs of the

Devirish across scorched sands.
Nothing stirs in the Oasis
Damned found in this harsh burning land.

Hade’s wind stirs,
evil thoughts weave and blurs.
Carrion-birds soar like blackened ghosts
on updrafts hot; eyes of the damned
anticipating mid morning’s ruby-stained
grisly meal.

Oasis littered with the dead of many;
Slaughtered where they stood
by an avenging angel.

Wrath filled and seeking any
Who burn with a raging fire.

Consumed with a raging desire
To Enslave the weak.

From out of the sands simmering he came,
Wielding terrible fury on those
Who sold hapless souls dressed
in chains heavy
Of slavery certain.

Cries of supplication to the silent gods
arose during nights long
of constant drudgery;
Pleading . . . begging, for divine
Succor.

Cruel masters laughed and jeered;
“Come a soul not to save your
miserable lives, slaves!”
And they would laugh. And they would
beat the weak and the
Innocent.

Tread lightly, fools, your heartless jeers
Divine retribution is what your heart should fear.
For on this hot day, as sun’s white disc
steams the white fog of oasis
green and aqueous blue
Clear of dancing, nebulous wraiths
He came.

Cries they heard from riders afar.
The sounds of clashing arms
and shields stout
bellowing
from blows mighty.

Slavers ran, armed and eager
to smite the fool who
dared to raid a raider’s horde.
But fall these jackals do
in desert’s sand rudely stained
with crimson life.

Many they seemed
Yet far too few.

A warrior appears, dressed in ancient armor,
sun glistening from bronze helm.

Red is the horse hair plume that arches
like the vaulted night sky
to a narrow waist.

With one stroke of sword against slaver’s chains–
With one stroke, the lost have freedoms regained.

Run they do, like startled gazelles;
Run from the horrors behind of death and blood
Leaving behind bronze helmed Champion alone
to harvest the souls of
cold hearted jackals.

Now the oasis is silent.
Now dead are the fools who once were defiant.
And Champion—Champion treks
through sands burning.

Looking . . . looking for peace he knows
His troubled heart can never sow.

8 Comments
  1. Dana Goodman says

    Strong poem.
    Emotionally sound. Thank you B.R.
    DG

  2. B.R. Stateham says

    You’re welcome, Dana. I’m glad you liked it.

  3. M.F. says

    Your poem stirs up emotions I didn’t know I have 🙂
    So in that sense, I find this enlightning work!
    I’m now going to read the rest of your stuff on AD.

  4. Paul says

    I’m not a poetry person but this is stirring stuff. Nice job.

  5. B.R. Stateham says

    M.F.–Paul, thanks for the kind words.

  6. B.R. Stateham says

    Paul . . . . M.F–

    Thanks for the kind words. To stir up emotions is my main intent when I write like this.

  7. Joyce Juzwik says

    I really enjoyed this, B.R. The vivid images you paint really bring a lot of emotions to the surface. It’s strong and full of hope, yet there’s such a deep sadness here. It would seem this warrior is everyone’s champion except his own. He has the power and the means to grant help where needed, but for some reason, he must endlessly ride, lost in a quest he is destined never to realize. Beautiful and moving.

  8. Venkatesan Iyengar says

    Vivid and evocative images.

Leave a Comment

                                                                                                                              Unique Pageviews for this article: 117