date: Thursday, September 17, 2009 @ 11:53 pm
title:
I can feel it in my fingers. the season of feeling insecure is coming. mother of all season.
Time to don the helment, the breastplate, the belt, the shoes and pick up the shield & the sword.
Getting ready for the battle. To restrain, constrain & reign!
"HOLD YOUR GROUND! DO NOT FIRE UNTIL I GIVE YOU THE SIGNAL! HOLD!"
The galloping of the dark knight and his minions raced towards the veteran and his army.
"GET READY! HOLD! HOLD! HOLD!"
They entered into the killing zone. Not planning for any to be spared alive, for they are the spawn of defilers.
"NOW! FIRE AT WILL!"
The masters of the bow let loose of their arrows and came the rain of shrapnel with their projectiles.
"FOR GOD & YOUR LOVE ONES. CHARGE!"
The killing zone became the burial ground of the darkness marching against the Lights. They were not given any response time, as it was aimed to make quick kills and dispatching their formation with the surprise attack.
"AH! This is for those who died under your merciless murder. You murderer! eat my steel!"
And the reflection of the metal temporary blinded the killer who were trained to kill, steal & destroy. As the metal met the alloy, it penetrated the thin layer and kissed the flesh under it. Cold-blooded creatures. Sly & cunning. But their devilish plot is nothing compared to what was dedicatedly planned. The only error that can be allowed is only human error, not technical mistake. The room for mistakes dun exist in the minds of the Lights, only mansions of victory and divinity.
Their zealous are seen in their eyes. Bloodshot and tailored to read the movements of their enemies before they strike them down. They charged like bulls on the loose. Not brindle can tame their berserk nature.
And they clashed at the no man's land. And the ground trembled under the explosive impact of the two. The constant pressure from the back, raised the frontal battle into an all-out mixture of swordmanship and art of close combat. It is not the frills that keeps them alive but their preparedness and state of the mind, that keeps the gashing teeth of the weapons away from their delicate body.
The East Wind aided them. The prayers of the musicians came like wild fire and consumed the darkness. They screamed and groaned for mercy, but they will not receive any. For their time have come, for them to pay for the wages of their err commitment.
And the battle was heated up to all time high.
"BREAK FORMATION. LAUNCH HAMMERS!"
The retreat bought time for the medics to pull in the causality. Keeping to the code of the Geneva - all wounded are to be attended in the battlefield. But they didn't state when during the battlefield and it doesn't seem too.
The sky turned red as the blood evaporated in the soaking ground.
I thought of a poetry today on the way home:
O Gardener of Thy Eden.
I will give up the whole forest for Thy tree.
Thy Tree of Life.
Thy Word.
Thy Food to my soul.
O Gardener of Thy Eden.
Thy fruit tastes like honey and dew.
Meltful of Sweetness for my soul.
O Gardener of Thy Eden.
May I pick a barrel of fruit?
May I?
May I?
O Provider of Thy Kingdom.
Filled with myriad of creatures.
Thy love married spirit, soul & body.
Out of the much, came the one alike Thee.
O Thee art beauty to my sight, smell, sound & feel.
I'm Yours.
I'm Yours.
