index_Warrior

       Warrior Spirit

He raced upon the winded cloud,
The warrior he once was.
Now an appointed spirit,
Protector from above.

He searched out the demon world,
Unkind and know to all.
The evil souls that prey on us,
He�d watch them as they fall.

A smile on him you never see,
But his heart felt the laughter.
Wounded, bruised, battered or dead,
To him it never mattered.

As long as he could rid the world,
Some we know and some we don�t.
For his domain was every where,
Places he�s been but we won�t.

A call is heard upon the wind,
He races weapons drawn,
The night cold and dark,
He rides on till the dawn.

The land it seemed had swallowed up,
Our demons helpless victim.
But still he searched not giving up,
Then he saw the evil demon.

Battle weapons ready,
Shield at his side.
Thundered through the midst,
And struck with all his might.

The victim grim and ragged,
Weakened by the throng.
Held his ground tho staggered,
Spirits lifted by the warriors battle song.

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        Warrior Spirit   Page 2

They fought hours and days it seemed,
Standing side by side.
Never wavered tirelessly,
Taking on each one in stride.

The battle ground was littered,
With casualties of war.
But these deserved the fate they got,
To cease their evil ever more.

But the skirmish started taking toll,
The two began to weaken.
Yet still the soldiers of the dark,
Sought their own grim reaping.

An eagles scream cut the air,
Then upturned wing and gone.
The warrior knew that help was near,
Battle cries and then a song.

The hoof beats and padded feet,
Bore souls of every kind.
These were friends and relatives,
Sending spirits with their minds.

The lodge was crammed and smoky,
Herbs hung in the mist.
Acrid smoke and pungent odors,
A trance like spell and gift.

Prayed and sent their brethren,
All the help they could provide.
They knew he brought this on himself,
But they also knew he�d tried.

If they could save him one last time,
Knowing death was at his door.
They knew he�d be a man again,
Walk straight and tall forever more.

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They kept the chant and ashes stirred,
All through out the night.
Heads bowed and holding hands,
The circle kept up the fight.

The warrior now odds were changed,
Drove the cloaked bones back.
Broke their scythes and armored shields,
Tore hoods from round their neck.

They scattered back to darkness,
Their holes in which to hide.
Buried back beneath the earth,
But again he knew they�d try.

The near death form crumbled,
The warrior drew him near.
He walked and carried back his soul,
To the hut that held him dear.

He lay the soul on the form,
Cold wet, body from tears that cried.
It slipped down through the blankets,
And disappeared inside.

Soon a gasp and heaving chest,
The mourners all looked down.
The soul rejoined and wakened him,
Blanketed on the ground.

His life not done, but still the chance,
The murmurs all grew louder.
When he brightened all their spirits,
As he cast the fine white powder.

Smiled not the unseen warrior spirit,
Or the others that returned.
He mounted and rode the wind again,
And thundered toward the sun.
The Masked Writer <-.->
.(C) 2001 T Lovett
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[This poem was not taken, but inspired
By a Native American Indian I know.
The short story form she sent is true
for the most part. I asked her once
if I could take it and put it to verse.
She said I could and not seeing it
since, I just wrote what I saw in it.
Her name is Biid. I want to thank
her for the opportunity to tell it
in this way so as not to take away
her original purpose in doing it.]