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Homage to St Michael

Michelle Mac Donald Avatar Michelle Mac Donald - LIFETIME Premium Member Michelle Mac Donald - Premium MemberPremium Member Send Soup Mail  Block poet from commenting on your poetry

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Homage to St Michael

A Knight from the vast Kingdom
of The King of Holy Throne.
Michael slept within a castle
on beds of peat moss, and of loam.                               
His face was sedimentary,
though laughter mapped its course.
And his gleaming hair cascaded,
much like a Viking of the Norse.

His raiment wasn’t fancy.
No silk nor satin hose.
But his mind was quick as silver
and his heart was pure as gold.
Cloaked without, by a robe of integrity.
Fortified within, by a will of steel.
He wielded the Sword of Justice,
while holding Truth up as his shield.

Saint Michael’s crusade was legendary,
as was the power of his sword.
Forged to slay the inner dragons,
in reverent service to our Lord.
Countless times the blade was tested,
for malice dwells not on defeat.
Never lacked he for contenders,
disciples of rumors and deceit.

Bad Rumor sowed the seed of doubt
within the mind of man.
Watered from the trough of spite,  
he conceived his evil plan.
Each rancid seed that sprouted
grew to a bud of tarnished mail.
Thus, shrouded by corrosion,
he sought corruption to prevail.

When Rumor heard of Saint Michael, 
his phosphorous eyes lit up with hate.
Armed with his pitchfork and scythe,
he charged through his hellish gates.
Targeted by dark ambition,
saddled by vicious greed,
he raced upon the clouds fate,
engulfed by jealousy.
.
Michael felt the evil presence
and strapped on his Mighty Sword.
Then he rode off to a clearing,
in the sweet realm of The Lord.
Rumor attacked with animosity,
his trident held, as if a spear.
But as the Sword of God unsheathed,
Rumor was lanced by sudden fear.

Michael raised the Sword of Eminence  
as if to pierce the sky.
While sunlight sparked along its blade
a beam smote Rumor’s eye.
Blazing light seized Rumor’s mind.
It seared his ravaged soul.
And when the inner battle ended,
Rumor’s heart was charred to coal.

As Saint Michael wiped soot and ashes
from the length of his trusted sword,
his eyes fell upon the hilt
to runes inscribed there, by The Lord:
“May The Force be your faith
May your spirit know The Lamb
May Love guard your heart
May The Light guide your hand.”


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