In this Field I toil
My hands and Feet
Cracked and broken
I feel the ground shake
Lay aside my tools
And see Her as her Legion advances
Her banners wave golden
In the same sun that scorches
My neck
My hand moves to the small of My back
Old wounds won last in Her service
I don’t speak of the wounds in My Chest
Won last when I drew Her favor
When She came to my tent
When Her auburn hair hung, not in that tight braid at Her back….
But fell loose and tangled about Her
Strong shoulders
When I felt Her thighs against mine
Not boiling hot
But as cool linen that has lain in the embrace of an Autumn breeze
And with a tender Grace that belied
Her powerful frame
She held My Head against Her breast
As our bodies moved in unison.
She smelled of the herbs and oils of the temple
Where they anointed Her the day She fell from the Stars
I forgot the pain of these wounds
As She freed me from What ties me to this place
Even now as the horns call to rally to Her banner….
I desperately fight to keep My feet where they are
I can not fight Her War any more…
But, by the Gods, I want to…

About Eric

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