Ideals (a poem by me)

Hear the stroke of a dragon's wings
feel the touch of the wind that sings
grip the sword in your hand that brings
Freedom.

Nigh the ring of the mighty horn-call
at Quintor's hand, evil falls
true and firm as a thick stone wall
Hope.

Hand to the ground, feel how it moves
white or black, and the conflict proves
hear the rumbling of stallions' hooves
Battle.

Taste on the wind the blood and sweat
muscles burn, but we can't stop yet
darkness consumes all it can get
Despair.

Warm the clasp of another hand
sworn foes and friends, both take a stand
'gainst the dark, together we band
Trust.

A glinting dagger in your back
angry thoughts as the world goes black
I should have known ... sense I lack
Betrayal.

Whispering growth of new spring grass
warm the sun 'gainst the window's glass
watch a flow'r unfold. Winter's past
Life.

Rusty blade, half-hidden in soil
broken in half, a strong blow foiled
jeweled hilt glimmers with ancient toil
History.

Flickering light on ancient tome
smell old pages and rain-washed stone
hear the voice of a sage intone
Knowledge.

Feel the spray of the untamed sea
rigging's creak and gull's wild plea
peer through the spyglass, you may see
Adventure.

Crumbled ruins, as old as time
subsumed by trees and curling vines
breezes whisper in aged pines
Mystery.

Elizabeth