He stands waiting only for a moment
He watches the blood drip from the ceiling
The room was covered in the corpses of his opponents
A man who has no thoughts or feeling
He shouts out, "Thy man shall not enter my chamber."
A blinding light shines from his sword
He was an artist oh him the "Crimson Painter"
Puts his hand to his chest, he holds his own accord
He yells, "Thou enterest no man's land and expects no fight"
All the bandits and barbarians were forced to run
"thou shalt not escape my burning blight"
All who come his way shall kneel one by one
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Author:
Ethan Mikel St.Amour (
Offline) - Published: October 16th, 2025 06:18
- Category: Fantasy
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: A.N.
Offline)
Comments1
A poem of power by force and the blade. Pride in strength and a primal yell for all to take notice and prepare. Lovely
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