Rise, legions of man,
from the dust of yesteryear,
for the call to battle has come
once again,
and the need for valorous hearts,
pure,
unstained by cause,
asserts itself once more.
you are the soldier,
brave above all others,
noble and tall,
hardened by vicious battle,
no stranger to salted blood,
drawn by saber.
in your eye
lies the warrior’s honor,
assessing thine enemy;
he too of noble heart.
on sun’s rising,
strike forth!
and know that victory alone
shall be your cause,
borne by wolves
will you be,
and defeat ye shall not know,
in life,
nor death,
which brings a hero’s mantle.
wars long for the sounds
of marching legions,
heard across the valley floor,
or the hooves of appaloosa,
as dust rises on the horizon,
sonorous cries of primitive man,
as iron strikes meld,
and the weary wither
before you.
you know the fight,
warrior,
bred within you,
sword raised in youth,
the scar of battle upon you now.
and this is war,
young brave,
as only it was meant to be,
no missile from diving craft,
no noxious fume,
no maniacal flame.
let man face man
WITH DRAWN SWORD,
AND MAY HE WHO STANDS
AT DAY’S END
CLAIM VICTORY.
No pedestrian bluster.
no lie.
To the victors go the spoil
of war,
and in it,
honor is reclaimed.
Share
Print
Save
