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Rated: · Poetry · Cultural · #1284369
My dream thoughts of my celtic friend, a clan leader.
He stands proud and strong, this kilted warrior
head held high against the unending pain
of a heart born out of sadness
at the loss of those who came before him
and thoughts of those who would
continue on when he himself was no more.
Proud men one and all
vows made till surrendered in death
to defend that which
was their birthright, the very land
upon which he now stood.
The call to battle though long since silenced
came from within his very heart and soul
blood of the ancient ones raged in his veins
his sword by his side...shield upon his back
he stood ready to charge into battle
to do what was expected of him since birth
to fight as those before him fought
without fear, but with a strength
only a battle hardened warrior
knew and understood.
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