Dämonenforum

Hab ich in den Tiefen meines Gedichtbandes gefunden, ist schon etwas älter

Ten riders rode across the field,
black cloaks on shoulders, reins in hand,
through darkness, the gods invisible shield,
silence their only comrade.

Through a dark forest, deep they went in,
full leering horrors no human eye have seen.
One dark shadow.
One cry.
One cracking spine,
leaving there only nine.

Nine riders rode across the field,
black cloaks on shoulders and blood on hands,
through darkness, the gods impenetrable shield,
regret their only comrade.

Through a crowded city, poor the folk,
daggers from dark cutting the ninth throat.
They were fleeing, blowing stroke for stroke,
knowing neither what it was nor who.

Eight riders rode across the field,
black cloaks on shoulders and shivering hands,
through darkness, the gods invincible shield,
fear as their only comrade.

Passing kloofes, seeing no end,
step by step passing wall and stone.
An ambush! An arrow taking what´s not its own,
Seven bleeding fighters went.

Seven riders rode across the field,
red cloaks on shoulders and wounds on hand,
through darkness, the gods invincible shield,
weakness as their only comrade.

Taking a rest in a village,
tired from the night.
No one is watching all seems right.
When one blinking was seen,
from one who has knowledge
about a terrible plot.
The house was stormed,
the people cried,
screams were formed,
seven blades were freed.
After blood and gore,
They were leaving, but only four.

Four riders rode across the field,
red cloaks on shoulders and steel in hand,
through darkness, the gods incredible shield,
grim as their only comrade.

Ten brothers were leaving,
four brothers arrive,
six mothers were weeping,
only four brothers alive.
Sadness settled.
The years went on
but something was feeling wrong.

The fourth brother in tears and grief,
He took his steel with fearless hand.
He cut though, muscle, bones and band,
one last tear shed in relieve

Three brothers walk across the field,
black cloaks on shoulders and wood in hand,
through darkness, the gods troubling shield,
c carcass their only comrade.

High rose the flames from wood and cinder,
a fate we all will share.
One followed the brother,
with the lasting flames,
to stop we didn´t dare.
So two brothers went to ash,
leaving us and rising winter.

Two riders rode across the field,
black cloaks on shoulders and steel in hand,
Through morning, the gods mocking shield,
the final clash as last present.

One fell of his horse without a scream,
The blade deep in his chest.
One more burned with suns last beam,
this was his request.

One rider rode across the plane,
the other nine were free.
From their journey
he was the only one to remain,
Only one, and this was me!