Warrior of Might
by Rodney Evan Bohen
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Warrior of Might
Once he thundered as a warrior of might, upon meadows springs was his flight
He skipped upon sunsets did traipse upon clouds puffed light
The earth, ground did tremble quake, as he did in sway pass in the way,
They called him warrior of might, blazed and bold, for he was the one spoken of old
Who yes walked in might, and lightning blazing bright
Tale states, he was glimmering in stance, glistening brown shoulder length hair
Wet rinsed in stream bath, while eyes of fire did smolder within, oh so rare
His hands held the power, his eyes, the nights fright
He rode strong upon stallion white, tail of glory streaking behind in traced lite
Yet, even legends, grow old in time, in the way
Seacliff now his abode, where he dwells night and day
Inhaling exhaling his dream of old night into days night
Men no longer know him, his name withered as he light
For battles amany, left him by the big sea called bright
Too old and tired, to move from the place
He sat and sighed, yesterdays glory riding by upon mind
Thinking how respected was his name once in time
The gulls knew him now, the otters the same
But none upon mankind even guessed at his name
He was warrior of might, named of old, stamped to time
It took him many years to find the seacliff
Battled many enemy of ancient and old, to get to the place, where to unfold
A promise of old left him was never erased untold
For he knew a lover there once, many years before had they laid wed
He said, she said, they would meet in same place, when time came, for transformation of face
He dreamed of no other, his trail walked marked in might blazed
They were young then, yet he never forgot loves haze, hearts raised
Toiled and warred his entire lifewalk, marching back to the same lingering soft spot
Where in lap, she tenderly touched him in heart, set cradled upon lap
Yet the story ends not here, no I fear
She was called Indian Girl, ageless of time
Her beauty unchanging, standing dead still in time
He however, full of pride, did in fact age, over the bridge called times rage
His sadness worsened as he feared how she would gaze
Upon he, so broken and utterly undone in battered by age and war waged
He wept, as true warriors often do, for he was stilled in time old
Could no longer prance, and stomp over oceans and mountains bold
In one blazing glance stance, as he did once in times grasp of old
She so young, he so old, his heart knew little of bold, now resting in old
The seagulls would feed him day in and day out
For he could not move now, breath barely walking, whispering upon air light upon saddled night
The moon was his blanket, the sun his warm loincloth
As he awaited a promise right up to the end
He now exhaled....... only three more left
So he held it in might tight, awaiting her in promised flight
Story says when she found him, he was still holding his breath,
Saving his life for the very entry of her breath, but his breath was no more
For he held it in store for a promise of love, till he was no more
He held it in honor as the mighty warrior of old, once bathed drenched in blood
He inhaled his dream, rest of story never told.........
Indian Princess.........you came too late.......so the story unfolds......
Rodney Evan Bohen
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|Reviewed by Melissa Rives
|Beautiful work as always...so sad an ending though. Your pen never fails...|
|Reviewed by Josephine Bohen
|so very very sad
so beautiful rodney
|Reviewed by Nicole Davis Vergara (Reader)
|Ahhhhhh Rodney my heart and soul be troubled today, and yet this splendid superb piece of story poetry you have unfolded here within it I find some sense of peace! OUTSTANDING WORK RODNEY!
|Reviewed by Trish - The Trickster
|You are a wonderful storyteller, my friend. Very impressive work.....Excellent! ~Trish~|
|Reviewed by jude forese
|very very impressive!|
|Reviewed by *********** ********** (Reader)
|A beautiful work Rodney.....you never fail to impresS all with your pen.....ty, Dani|
|Reviewed by Katy Walsvik
|Ahhhh, Rodney, that last verse! Oh, that last, painful, agonizing verse! 'holding his breath' he waits, yet when she comes, he is gone... You, sir, are proof that the heart is what defines our humanity.. our true essence. To understand our nature, we must listen to our hearts.. I weep for your warrior. katy.|
|Reviewed by June Thompson
|I enjoyed this|
|Reviewed by Retta (Reindeer) Mckenzie
|Oh how deeply I hold your lovely poetry to my heart, this was so very beautiful and sad, just so outstanding!
|Reviewed by Maria Lupinacci
You do weave a wonderful tale. This is sad and beautiful at the same time. That makes it a magical love story!
|Reviewed by Joseph* OneLight*®
I held my breath to the end of this glorious tale! Was saddened to read that the Indian Princess came too late.
|Reviewed by Tinka Boukes
|spledid as always Rodney!!