Starfighter Poem by William Kruse

We have heard from of old the tales that are told,
the legends that live to this day,
of Kings and Queens and fabulous scenes
that inspire us along our way.
The stars in their courses fought Sisera’s forces,
the heavens themselves declared war
on his visions and dreams and grandiose schemes
till his name is remembered no more.

The colossus strode down the desert road
in the heat of the noonday sun
with a battle plan, thinking by his hand,
there’d soon be a victory won.

He’d battled them all, the great and the small,
so the Hebrews would be no chore.
The legends would tell how the nations fell
when Sisera went to war.

The Israelite horde, armed with sling and with sword
awaited the signal to fight.
Their leader, Barak, sent word to attack
when Deborah said time was right.

The thunderclouds formed and they knew a storm
would flood the Kishon valley.
But they waited well, till the raindrops fell
before they started to rally.

His chariots rolled, nine hundred all told,
with shields and swords and arrows.
And the Hebrews fought the way they were taught,
outflanking them in the narrows.

Then the thunder crashed and the lightning flashed
and the Kishon started to rise.
The chariots stuck axle-deep in the muck
and terror filled Sisera’s eyes.

In the face of defeat, a hasty retreat
to Ja-el’s tent seemed best.
He’d been here before, so he walked through the door
expecting to find peace and rest.

She welcomed him in, with a wink and a grin,
and that “Come hither” look in her eyes
that made him believe he was going to receive
something more than a battlefield prize.

She gave him a drink, then took time to think
while standing guard at the door,
of how best to kill this Caananite swill
and thus put an end to the war.

As the general dreamed, this Kenite schemed
and then drove a nail through his head.
His starfighting done, his last battle won
his stint as a legend was dead.

His ladies and loyals await the spoils
of war that he always brings;
the cloth and the gold, the plunder untold
and the song that the victor sings.

And his Mom’s at the gate, she’ll wonder and wait,
“What can be taking so long? ”
He’s never this late, she’d certainly hate
to think anything could go wrong.

But he’d reckoned no power, no God, man or hour
could stand in Sisera’s way.
Like his chariots, his will was iron; his skill
unequaled in that time and day.

God remains unimpressed with men self-obsessed,
though we make for ourselves quite a name.
We just can’t outfight God, the truth and the right
And have only ourselves to blame.

We have heard from of old the tales that are told,
the legends that live to this day,
of Kings and Queens and fabulous scenes
that inspire us along our way.
The stars in their courses fought Sisera’s forces,
the heavens themselves declared war
on his visions and dreams and grandiose schemes
till his name is remembered no more