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The Chase, poem

Another attempt at poetry and it isn’t very consistent in rhythm or rhyme, but it’s kind of exciting, perhaps, maybe, if you read it right. Leave a comment and tell me what you think. And do you have a name for it?

With bloody cuts and painful scraps
I gallop hard across the planes
I raise my blade to sweep away
A fast pursuer in my wake

My heart is pounding hard and fast
My horse he labors through and past
The enemy camp that swarms the path
It falls away, we leave at last

A shrill high call near makes me fall
The dreaded sound of a trumpet’s call
My steed he quakes and then he balks
He gallops faster than the hawks

With a sudden cry I feel a shot
It starts on my back and sears through my heart
An arrow is killing me there on the spot
My race is now over, my battle a loss

But one hope yet flickers, one last hope is mine
I wrap my fingers around my horse’s mane
He gallops he struggles he runs and flies
I know he is going for his home to find

The trees whip around me I cannot last long
The wind is still whipping and whistling a song
My vision grows blurry, I see but a fog
And what I am hearing I know to be wrong

I hear a battle cry just up ahead
It streaks through the air and over my head
My horse now is tiring and his strength is fed
He stumbles and slows now, I know I’ll be dead

He slows to a stop and I hear my own name
I struggle to sit up amid all the pain
But to my great anger and greater my shame
I collapse on my steed, my face in his mane

An arm goes around me and I’m lifted down
Gentle hands touch me, hands I have known
My people, my friends, my army has come
And whether I live is in their strength alone

I now wake up slowly with sleep on my face
But grateful to be here, I know I am safe

Electric Bubbles

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