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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Normandy For man to set alight his earthly pyre was destined from the capture of the spark. T’was mere survival harnessing its fire to lift his primal world out of the dark. It seared his prey, it warmed his frigid night and let abyss beyond the Sun unveil. It lent its rays to bring his world to light and let the passive beast within prevail. But feral beats still pounded in his chest to circulate the warring blood within. Primeval law would validate his quest as Gods of conjure consecrate the sin. Those fires of war forever we pursue, ‘tis but a spark that let the flames ensue. ‘Tis but a spark that let the flames ensue and now the plebes of freedom come to call. A despot’s doomed delusions hitherto, conceived this kingdom, destined for a fall. Deception’s quest has filled his sea with wrath. It steers in stealth beneath the ebb of night, it stems the tide along a furtive path thus, echoing intent at morning’s light. But ruse must rise above a morning tide to storm the beach and face what lies before. ‘Tis but a quest that dares to be defied since glory waits for all that breach the shore. While fate prepares its pinnacle of fire, an iron convergence gathers at the spire. An iron convergence gathers at the spire to storm the sovereign sands of Norman lore. The salvos rage, unleashing futile fire, while endless hulls of steel assault the shore. And through the night a silent wing took flight releasing hope into the midnight the air, a missioned quest to join the shoring fight and tread a path that only hellions dare. But destiny is left to God on high, ‘tis providence that deems who lives or dies. And there within a devil burrowed nigh to render devastation in reprise. From Hell to Heaven, fate shall rendezvous. as reckoning by morning’s light comes due. As reckoning by morning’s light comes due, the trepidation calls out to the gods. When evening vespers see the dawn break through, entreaty swiftly turn to morning lauds. As iron and steel berate the tidal surge, a fiery mist consumes the morning air. When innocence and savagery converge the confidence concedes to trepid prayer. The fires of Hell that rained down from the sky held nothing but contempt for flesh and bone. The cannon's rage had deafened gods on high and no imploring gesture would atone. While gods on high neglect these sons of war, the consternation storms the Channel shore. Book: The Wars That Made Us Chapter: Normandy
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