Fate Delivers Its Promised Bitter Cup
He sat shackled, days and nights now a daze,
Doom and gloom, now spoke in whispered tones.
Once dashing, ladies in a swooning craze
Each day he became more a wasted bone
Upon heaving chest, gasps of his sorrows,
Sparse food and water with no needed rest.
His weeping soul prayed for no tomorrows
Despair, he had failed battle's greatest test.
Sword and armor now ancient broken heap,
He questioned why, last huge battle was lost.
Not thinking, as you sow, so shall you reap
Each death plea, heart knew its punishing cost.
Prison bars, filtered in freedom's light,
Fleeting rays, spoke of sacrifice and pain.
Worse, sad and quiet loneliness each night
And knowing he could not remove that stain.
Having heard his battle-horse had been killed,
His tears flowed as if for a long lost friend.
By very best they were trained and were skilled
He passionately prayed for that same end!
Dawn came, his prayer answered that sad morn
Marched to a massive tree and there tied up.
His mind spoke, for this sad Fate, you were born
Rejoice, bravery gifts this bitter cup!
Robert J. Lindley, 1-25-2017
Note- Written this morn, after reading the great poem, (The Captive), 1840,
composed by the great Russian poet, Mikhail Lermontov...
Source:
http://www.poetryloverspage.com/poet...ontov_ind.html
In sincerest hopes that this tribute poem, may have done that gem some justice....
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10
Total # Syllables: 240
Total # Words: 187
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017