7000 Days
Seven thousand days my sword has cleaved.
Seven thousand days my shield has covered.
I pound the dents of a thousand war hammers from my shield.
I can still feel the bone jarring clash of the last hundred swings of my enemy.
I can not get their stain from the blood channel of my sword.
I fight for Country.
I battle for King.
I conquer for God.
I am paid by promises from my Lord that I will be received
as a hero upon my return to my home. Seven thousand days since I have seen my
home. I do not have a home. This is my home. I am married to the steel in my
sheath. My children come to me one after another and die an early death.
When I rest I watch the enemy gather what I have caused and
dig holes to hide the fruits of my labor from my sight. When I rest women come
to claim those who I have called my friends and carry them back to their heroes
welcome.
Seven thousand days I wake to charge to the battle. Seven
thousand days I drag the tip of blade through the dirt as I stumble back to my
tent. The eyes of my warrior friends stare up at me with the glaze of death in
their eyes. The eyes of my enemy stare up at me with the promise of what awaits
me upon my demise.
Seven thousand days the battle waxes and wanes like the moon
above my head. Days we advance. Days we retreat. Seven thousand days the
commanders point to the map. Seven thousand days I push the edge of the line. I
return soaked in blood to my plate of gruel. My commander looks to me, with goblet
in hand and admiration in eye.
Will seven thousand and one be the day that my God takes me?
Will seven thousand one be the day that I am paid with my heroes return? Will
seven thousand one be the day that I am claimed to pay for the days that I have
taken from my enemy?
I can only hope.
