As metal clangs against metal,
my arms grow weak.
This fight isn't going well,
and its starting to look bleak.
I can see my enemies face,
and the look in his eye's.
Both of us knowing,
the other must die.
The sun reflects off,
the sides of our blades.
As our fight goes on,
the light quickly fades.
He now looses his footing,
and my blade claims his head.
My body is tattered and bloody,
but the enemy is finally dead.
I will now return home,
and take much needed rest.
As I rest and heal I will smile with pride,
in knowing I'm still the best.
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Raise your sword
i salute your good warrior poem.
and nice rhymimg.
thanks
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