Medieval poem

[Ajax]

Inspired by a knight lord being asked to recite poetry on the spot by a noblewoman:

I have no gift for poetry or rhyme
That is not how I choose to spend my time.
Better to hand me spears or sword,
Than bandy out flow'ry words.
I'm more at home with horse and lance,
Than singing song for fools to dance,
Though lords and ladies often choose
To make me sing my dullest views.
And though warriors seem dull of wit
I am loath to disprove it
Better to be seen as simple and dumb
Than allow your foemen to have won.
My voice is simple, never graced
With rhyme nor any praise laced.
For though I'm fit, strong as a tree,
I have no gift for poetry.

Thoughts?

[Faranox]

Oh, I like this. Very nice! A man who seeks only to be defined by his actions.
Did you mean praise instead of praised in the third from the bottom line?

[HitMan]

I would of just blacked her eye, he tried to hard.

[PrO-bOy]

very good indeed
I shall post my own creation.


Heart of a Warrior

The sun rises, a new day is born.
The sunrays bathe my face.
I gather my gear and sharpen my sword,
so she can be my enemy’s disgrace.

The men are already up,
hungry for the enemy’s blood.
They live to fight, and fight to live.
War is their first and only love.

Everyone is confident,
their blades urging to be swung.
We know once the battle is over,
the smell of our foe’s blood will fill our lungs.

As we make our way to the battlefield,
songs of bravery are sung .
We remember those who have fallen:
Fathers, sons, some old, some young.

We spot our enemy:
hundreds they are, all over the field.
They shout and scream as loud as they can…
They don’t realize their fate has been sealed.

We draw our swords,
and raise them to the skies.
The earth shakes and the wind go wild
as we lunge forward with our battle cries

Our foe is bewildered,
yet it’s ordered to attack.
My men know the time has come,
there will be no falling back.

At the sound of the first clash,
we know this is it.
This is where we become gods,
where our fighting flame is lit.

We will achieve victory,
no matter the price.
As the blood covers our blades,
we delve into this glorious vice.