before the dawn their bows are drawn and set
fletched in an obliquity of an arrow slit in the grave face of a ruined castle
angles amplify their lethal reach across an arc
those on the ground
soon to bleed with perforations
the enemy’s horses arrayed, whinnied and unsettled as hell reigns in their fears
yet all is silent a noise so massive the ether is compressed and stilled and rare
the frost of the archers breath exhale disturbing the air like a wheezing rhythm circles the clouds of chaos
their discipline intact
vibrations then unleashed in the peace of the morning their arrows carve the air in a harmony of oscillations
they quiver and fell any man so struck his seconds numbered as they count to zero the weight of a dead man falling
the enemy dismantled arm by arm like a puppet torn asunder in the fray
inside the fortress a Roman fire forges weapons of war and the victors march proud as day conquers night
a drawbridge creaking light with an aperture expanding to reveal their strength and numbers
a trail of triumph clattering across a hidden flood taken at the tide of good fortune
yet history ignores the victors of the past as much as the victors of the future
red and white vestments emblazoned with crosses on every man astride horses of destiny their helmets crowns of Christendom
yet Saladin will soon have his day anointed in the summer sun and vanquish the Crusaders
wars today are longer as wars of the past are fleet through the prism of history
Flynnpoetry 