From the grace of heaven
I fell to earth
Yet within my mind
I continued falling
Through
Into the abyss of darkness.

I have no origin
When approached by a soul
Mightier then I
I was unable to face him
Directly.

For he was but a glow
I dare not look
He spoke not in words
But in thoughts
Who am I,
I asked?


You are chosen
Showing me a beautiful
White Stallion
As bright as virgin snow
His name is unknown
I was told.

A weapon was placed
Into my hand
Arming me With a golden
Double edge sword
Sharp as a razor
Harder then cold steel.

I was mounted, on The Stallion
WhO am I
I asked again
An order caused The stallion
To gallup, at incredable speeds
Who am I?
I screamed.

You are the one, that sits
on The White Horse
Called "War"
With those words uttered
We galloped, into the four winds.

Huge wings protruded
from from the stallion's sides
Flopping silently at high speeds
I found myself, riding on the wings
Of Pegasus.

My destiny, was the battle fields
Of the Mideast where men
Gallently fought each other
Knee deep
Mixed in blood and crude oil
To swing my sword, without discretion.


By D'Artagnan
11/19/04