By Rowen Prowett
One calls "halt!", the other freezes without fault
It's only a mock duel of course.
Mock, unlike the war on course.
Souls plain as day, white linen,
The seat of religion has many names.
The sacred of three merge into one.
Battles fought for land bought in blood
in the name of the Savior!
In Blood of three.
In blood of people just like you and me.
Black streaked with grey meets blonde red.
Night worn old by day meets new-born sunrise.
It looks to be,
Death to the loser, spoils of war to the victor.
Blonde red hair falls and waits for the final blow,
and lowers his blade.
Blinding pain assures him he's alive.
No ill will bears down on him.
Blonde red bears witness to the resolve in Grey beard's eyes.
Not one more blacked mark will rest upon his soul.
"To live or to die is up to God to decide."
The man makes his decision plain.
Not one more blacked mark will rest upon his soul this day.
The cold wind carries the moans of the dead and the dieing to the pained man lain there.
Not one more blackened mark will rest upon his soul this day.
Found by comrades hours later,
The choice is plain but clear.
Continue the fight for land bought in blood
or decide as the Grey man did:
Not one more blackened mark will rest upon his soul.
To bear the cross or to share the cross?
The question hangs just there.
Blonde red makes his choice as those before him did,
Not one blackened mark will rest upon his soul, ever more.