by Gerard J. Surprenant

Trumpets blaring from a castle high,
Declare their message far and nigh.
Their clarion call, momentous and grand,
Searching for heroes from throughout the land.

The message it traveled from glen to glen.
The request went out for a few good men,
To leave their farms, their homes and in throng,
To carry the banner of right against wrong.

Many answered the call from far and from wide
And formed, as one, a heroic tide.
To the battle they marched, undaunted by fear,
In defense of the realm and all that was dear.

From carnage complete, from embers still burning,
A few men stand out from the battle that's churning.
For heroes are born from impossible tasks
And their deeds are performed in improbable masques.

Charging to the front on a silvered steed,
One grayed in battle rides for honored Creed.
With lance at the ready and shield in position,
Sharpened sword at his side; the final solution.

Onward, onward into the crushing din,
Forever forward, into the van of sin.
Vanquished adversary in numbered glory,
Until the numbers, in turn, reverse the story.

Besieged by the incessant fearless foe.
In dire straits, the hero comes to know
The loss of sight and sound, of battle strife;
The loss of sense, the giving of a life.

The sun once shined over fields of war,
Now darkened and blistered by instruments of gore.
Where heroes once shared their bright dreams of glory
In hopeful remembrance, in tale and in story.

Cold and barren are places where heroes fall,
Once fruitful from lives of laboring all.
They rest in a darkness that's cold and dank,
With laurels unsheltered from foul rank.

The battle once fought with great power and might,
Lost to a history of what's wrong and what's right.
The hero, long gone from the field, the war ended;
And burnt in the memories of those he defended.

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