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Unarmed And Wearing Rags

From across the field I watch you...

In full armor, with sword and shield,
you defend yourself from the horde of fighting men.
Standing alone, you hack indiscriminately,
careless of the arms and legs at your feet...

...everyone is your enemy.

I begin to advance slowly,
through the ranks of men just waiting for their chance.
Clothed in rags and unarmed, I make my way closer,
always watching to see if you show signs of tiring... don't.

The horde shrinks back as I approach you without a word,
my hands out in a gesture of peace.
The battlefield is silent.
You raise your shield and point your sword in warning...'re trembling.

Without slowing my approach, I walk right past the sword,
and when I stop, you lower the shield.
One piece at a time, I remove your armor,
The horde, neither noticed, nor needed, slink away...


The last piece I remove is your helmet.
The last remnants of doubt are erased.
You are the one I've been looking for,
and I am the one you won't fight.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © ...These poems are mine...if you steal them, you will be doomed to be one thing, and one thing only for the rest of your life...the worst thing...unoriginal.

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