Be the sign's majesty,
Upon our cracked shield.
That the old dogs,
Lay with a new gold seam.
Lace around the filed ridges and,
Morning glory burning the eyes.
Tame the tigers track,
AS the relics gleam.

Glamor burns as archer fire,
Upon our oily hair.
Kings be the judges,
Hang by my quill.
Only a pack of wolves,
Could survive this wild.

Peasants boil in our dragon's fire,
And pierced decapitated,
In our knight's charge.
A fate fitting to
All monk Souvineirs.

Helmts as plentiful,
As silver rivers,
Cast in burning rage.
Upon the fields of Pride
And bask in the dreads of
Fallow lands graves.
That only foe blood,
May calm the quarries
Of our warrior's Minds.

No patrons carry us,
But the common man.
Stand as the black cement
Of mountain's standard
On the Call of RLF's Trumpets!

Anyone wants to publish a poem of their own?

Come my youth,
Stand in the Field Of Age.
Grandfather to Son,
Vanquish thy sword
To Brandish in
The Pits of Enemy Hell.

Chemistry is not
The Sword’s Paul Bearer
But More the Spirit
Of progression.
Salute your helmet,
With a celestial grace
For the song of war
Echoes in the Mountains of RLF.

Raiders with Virtue, Are we.
May you cloak Yourself in our Banner
And scourge a sword
In Grandfather RLF’s Fame.

DeMoNSouL

Anyone wants to publish a poem of their own?