The Conqueror

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Gazing from atop the hill,
Searching the vast horizon.

Eyes sharp as a blade

His entourage wondering where his mind is.

Eyes sharp as a blade

Searching the vast horizon,
Gazing from atop the hill.

The blaze from the camp fire light the night sky,
Painting a portrait for centuries to come,
The vision is beautiful.

He closes his sharp eyes,
Breathes in the night sky and smiles.

It is time.

Breathing in the night sky, he smiles,
He closes his sharp eyes.

The vision is beautiful,
The painted portrait he saw centuries ago,
The blaze of the camp lit the night sky.

His sword was named life,
His ironically was Death.


Roger Crowley

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About the post

Poetry

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