Forward. Toward. Closer to the war I am spurred.
Like a horse charging into war. A war with myself.
I run to the enemy. Evil, vile, and demiseful. How
I loath his very existence. His death is my wish.
Even now I wish for the sword of vengeance upon
him. To banish him forever into the wracking pit of
despair. I feel my blood pulsing, coursing, racing
through my veins. I feel strength. Unnatural.
Supernatural. And it surges. I am His strength.
How I long to crush the enemy. To inflict upon him
the debt due. Sword, Lance, Axe, Mace, Javelin,
Spear or like. I swing into the melee with all that I
am. The Lord of Banners is who I fight for. I am
like a sword, and I am unsheathed upon the
darkness by His stout and surely arm. I am His
weapon, and He is my victory. The enemy shall
not prevail. He shall come down. The Lord has
given me the power to crush the dragons head.
And I intend to use that power. Like a rod. Like a
sword. The wicked shall be matched. And they
shall come down willingly, or by my mighty Hand.
Copyright 2003 by pauly hart