The King and His Mistress

It was quiet
The last
Deep breath
Before the battle

Chain donned
Armour cinched tight
Gauntlet fitted
Helm set upon head

Nervous coughs
Burst like thunder
The clatter of steel
Echoed upon the plain

Some
Inexperienced
Soiled themselves in dread
As did many an old hand

I peered out from my helm
Field of vision narrowed

Calm
Serene

Like the quiet

I held no fear
No malice for the enemy

When the horn sounds
I will advance
No more planning
Only action
And reaction

Seeking

Finding

Creating

The music of death

© 2012, Mosquitobyte