The Commander
As the newborn sun begins its ascent
Into the velvet sky,
Pale mist glides over the horizon
Like an estranged lover seeking its soul.
A great rumbling sounds throughout the field,
And over the crest of a hill can be seen
The amassing of many men and beasts
Marching forward evermore.
Resplendent raiments of blue and white,
Tall hats dot the horizon,
Steel bayonets make a thicket of silver,
As artillery wheels churn through mud.
At the front of this host rides a lone figure:
A humble man, yet one who others look up to.
An air of authority surrounds his presence,
And his bearing forward carries purpose.
The commander raises his right hand in order,
And a thousand feet go silent.
He surveys with keen eyes the land before him,
Preparing for battle ahead.
With a shout of great force he rouses his army,
Galloping ahead at full speed,
Ready to take on what challenges await
With fresh-faced determination.
He guides his troop to the enemy’s flank,
Felling a great number of their men,
And achieving great advantage for his flag,
But not without cost of life.
As battle shifts from initial attack to a steady sludge,
Troops fall left and right to the enemy’s blade.
The ground grows moist with the blood of the dead
And the sound of steel clanging fills the air for miles.
Despite his own fear the commander regales his brethren,
Inspiring them to strike with new force against their foe,
And with his support and encouragement they beat back the enemy,
Ensuring victory and honor for their side.
In the battle’s aftermath the commander wanders,
Not partaking in the revelry and splendour of victory,
Instead caring for his men, catering, seeing,
Helping the injured to stand again.
As the sun rises again he sets off once more,
Awaiting new battles and fresh sights,
Ever there for his men, guiding them, leading them
To whatever challenges lay ahead.
