Ages of old

An older piece of mine from the highschool era.

I sit apon a stone so cold
as the fog doth take me
and the thoughts of an age so old
return to me so plainly

So I call out through the night
through the myst and cloud
and an answer to my plight
meets my ears so loud

Of the question that burns with rage
comes but one word to hear
my soul traped in the morbid cage
doth have the eye of a seer

A holy gift, the gods have granted
apon this mortal presance
The seed of change to be planted
in the garden of the peasants

For a king, corrupted so
has no place of glory
It is the man that bears no gold
that is the essance of this story

So the man, of a people in need
spirit so just and true
doth climb upon a humble steed
for he has work to do

So peacefull a man in the norm
with armor as hard as his might
for not the heavens could stop this storm
his blade will taste blood tonight.

~ by Flow on September 21, 2009.