Knelt on a mesa, the warrior cries.
A spirit shaped cloud rises towards the sky.
Hailing ancestors that trailed in the past,
summoning tradition as his shadow is cast.
Two Eagles fall in a spiral of death,
as a feather floats slowly to it's final rest.
Claimed by the warrior as a sign from the gods,
and placed by his side on a mound of sod.
The future is sought as an image arrives,
a white horse cloud with a stranger astride.
Eyes aglow and skin of pale, the warrior
listens to the riders tale.
He warns the brave of things to come,
the lives that are lost, the absence of love.
The warrior screams as the vision dissolves,
and one lone tear begins to fall.
The warrior cries.
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Comments about this poem (The Warrior by RickyLee Barber )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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