Twas the bleekest day --

the sun shone not with color.

My Iberian eyes looked upon chariots

rushing into battle.

WitH angels' tears

fire rained upon my brethren

And with horror I did see

desert tribes with pedigrees

and babies ripped from mothers.

When ashen vapors cooled

and fortresses collapsed,

red seas emerged

in savage death.

A servitude of fear.

Then calls to gladiators

throughout our land,

wheels of war with fiery steeds.

War horses, well-muscled, crossed ponds

and pursued that hateful deed.

A sea of black poured to the skies,

a halo in those clouds.

With arrows poised

My brethren rode

a call to join the battle.

As angels wept again,

chariot cities emerged.

And razor sharp the blade they swung,

upon breastplates of iron

and arsenals of words..

With graves now strewn

across green and fertile land.

As poison rained, our shields held high,

the kings of kings

cried "death or jail"

I took my mount,

that Andalusian steed.

So strong and agile, rode to the hills

my heart with hope.

And still no chivalry.

In noble voice

of purest form, I screamed

with flags unfurled.

Not man, nor child, nor king

heard my cries for peace it seemed.