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Poem

I rest my hand, 
upon golden sand 

My glittering sword 
In faith, it has been forged 
for the cross of St George 

Jewelled  rapier and soft silk, 
the men I fight, 
is of that ilk 
They do not see the light 

This battle of idealogical will 
I have had my fill 
For, the paths ,so wide, 
a bitter divide 

For one side must fall, 
to end it all 
But the enemy never does rest, 
spreading it's poison, 
far in to the West 

For this crusade 
for St George 
We cannot fade, 
weapons to forge 
For we must rise, 
defend the faith and the wise 
Go to meet, 
sit at our gods feet 

Now this winged sword I fly 
deep in to the night 
Puts the enemy to flight 
They never give up the fight, 
for they try and try 

I sometimes wonder why 
when I rest my hand 
on soft golden sand 
I hear my heart cry 
That I have seen this all before 
in another time 
another war 

Our lessons never learned 
Our enemy never turned 
Our houses burned 
Our entreaties never returned 

For, if we must, 
send our ideological enemies, 
back to sand and dust 
This is not the only way 
but our enemies are eager for the fray 

My chain mail 
has become chain gun 
This battle,far from won 
We must not fail, 
for our time is not yet done 

I sometimes wonder why 
as I rest my hand , 
upon golden sand 
at this idealogical blunder 


For there are no winners, 
only the dead 
at the battle for the sinners 
Only war, 
No peace,no law 
The enemy will never be enticed 
in to the world of Christ 

I sometimes wonder why 
as I lay my hand 
on this golden sand 
Stifle a cry, 
Is this why we cannot rest 
in the battle between East and West

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