A Victory To Mourn

by Jordan   Dec 15, 2005


This narrative poem is inspired by Anne Rice's, The Vampire Lestat. So major props go to her for such divine imagination. Please comment!
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Villagers beseeched the young lord of ruins.
Save us from our peril, O save us from the wolves that cry.
That rebel, that glorious warrior took up his weapons and adorned himself with courage.
He sat up on his mare and strode toward the hills with hounds at heel.

Trot on fair prince to claim your victory.
Trot on to beastly trickery.

The dreams of grandeur flickered in his mind as he reached the top of that hill.
He hoped and wished that those old wolves would come to him as the crow flies.
Give him the fight he so longs for, you fiends.
The villagers marked five.
An easy feat, thought he.
Suddenly there was a solemn howl that broke through the frosty silence.
It echoed through the air, the answering calls.
The sting of fresh fear danced across his heart, but he steadied himself.
They came from behind and at his side.
Ambush.
Clever killers were they.
Not five, but eight demons bounded for them.
His musket fired and shot through the snow claiming flesh.
A battle of wits and muscle has many a causality.
The lords great mastiffs lay torn in the scarlet ice amongst the fallen enemy.

Trot on fair prince, the end is nigh.
Trot on fair prince were troubles lie.

To quickly they caught him with teeth sharp as swords.
Frightening the mare, she rose up and cried out, down he fell into the chilly blanket.
The nays of the paralyzed mare pierced his ears as he edged away.
Three now remained and he had only his flail and sword to comfort him.
Snarling and anger rising, he felt himself being taken over by such a force.
Come for me.
Come!
The lord set his feet firmly and gripped tightly to the hilt of his sword.
He fought hard against diabolical strategy and won.
Wounded and shaken, but never the less a victor.
So, now he walked alone with his prize draped over his shoulders.
Sweat and blood left in the snow for spectacle.
He spoke within, "I am not myself."

Walk on fair prince in newfound lore.
Walk on fair Lestat de Lioncourt.

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