The Crusader Poem by al moye

THE CRUSADER

Ringing Bells
The bells they’re ringing
In every house of God
In deep melancholy
Speaking its pains
In rhythmic waves
And all the faithful
Sheep to the shepherd
Yield to the sad call
And with open hearts too

The chalice he swings
Clanging in rhythm
With the melancholic bells
And the bishop of St. Peter
The rock of the house
There at the altar stand
Clad in gold and silver
Wealth of sapphire that glitter
A stone of diamond shaped
Round his holy hand
His mark of shinning piety

His lips are holy too
They speak heavenly glory
His voice though in pain
Is an angelic hymn
His eyes though in tears
Burn like the brightest star
And his heart’s pious
Up for the world to see

A dark hour we live
In an evil shadow
Blocking the route
To the riches of heaven

And in silence the faithful weep
Their hearts in pain they yield
For the house of God
In pain he wails
Carry your sword
Oh soldier of God
It’s your duty
And you among saints
Go to battle
And crush thy foe
And free thy house
And bring him light

If today be brief
Worry not my son
His hand has laid
A place in wealth
Calm and ever full
With nothing but bliss


Waving Banners
The banners they’re waving
In all shapes and colors
Waving through the streets
Paved with nothing but glory

He’s ready too, astride on his beast
His sword sharp, his shield strong
Now his air’s full of fragrance
The lawn with flowers littered
Gentle women to him wave
Angelic children to him wave

Oh, gentle saint
Come you in haste
Your heart’s gold
Its fear spent
So be ever bold

Oh, gentle saint
Look thee back no more
Forward you’ll go
To fields made holy
Where his holy deeds
In wait for you

The joy he’ll ever feel
The warmth he’ll ever feel
To answer a call so pure
So God’s glory be cured

Oh, woe to you
You sons of darkness
You of desert flock
Who dared to lay
Your stain on God’s field
A field made so pure

Woe to you
You sons of darkness
You of desert flock
Today you shall flee
Before the hand of God


The Field of Gore
The fields are forever thirsty
They need to always drink
And they are greedy too
And the vulture above knows

For he alone will stay
He’s ugly, he’s a scoundrel
And very patient too
So when evening will fall
The fields he shall own

Oh, tell them
Women and children
Their hearts nascent
Still free of sights

Under the bed
Make a haven
Cover your ear still
And hold your hearts

For the fields are gone red
Their roots already drunk
And an empty beast
Home shall return

They’ll be a mighty scream
They’ll be a mighty shout
The meek will then become wise
Their soul’s forever unpured
In this field of gore

Then finally he falls
Evening now slowly peeps
To blindfold the light
And tell the greedy fields rest
And give the vulture his say

The harvest’s big
The lay in heaps
A dinner for kings
And I one of them

Thank thee oh, lord
Thy heart be ever blessed
For thinking always
Of a scoundrel like me

Pray let tomorrow
In earnest bring more
So I’ll be healed
Hunger forever sealed


The Gateman Saint
The gateman saint’s a rock
He’s old but forever strong
And numbers he know
Of all he’s seen
And all he’ll see
And make to rest
In his summer haven

The crusader he arrives
Slow and tired but calm
For days he’s search
But now his heart can rest

Tell me my son
Tell me in full
How was thy day

I heed his call
I walked his lane
To fields he’s made holy
To show the world his glory

So the crusader says
For that’s his truth
And that the heart must know

Their numbers were many
Their swords were heavy
Their hearts were fierce
And their hands savage

But I stood
And never did flee
For he commanded
And I obeyed

I took them to the stakes
Like torches they burn
To give heaven a whiff
Of his mighty glory

And I know
He waits now in full
To grant me reward
And bind my wound

The gateman saint he nodded
Forever he comprehends
And make the gates part
Its hinges rolling in cloud

My brave son
Before thy reward
I bid thee glance


The View
A land of clean he saw
Ever in summer and bright
The hand of time forever still
The fields forever green
Its beauty captured full
With trees full and in bloom
Colors of glorious rich

And a multitude of man
All in whitened robes
The desert flock
Their scimitars lost
The peasant flock
Now a duke raised
The slave flock
Now a man freed

And the bishop of St. Peter
Plain like the flock
Preaching not again
But the desert flock he kisses
Their hearts forever one

This is but a dream
Nothing but a dream
Where the senses are dulled
And a vision transformed

No my son
Thy heart be peace
For this is home
Where all’s same

So the gateman saint says
His eyes calm and bright
His voice full of triumph
For this be his view

This is but a dream
This is but a sight
Nothing but a dream
Nothing but a sight

And the dark one sends
For sure knows
This means nothing
But give the heart a cramp

So I’ll sit
In humble and wait
And watch my sleep dissolve
To free this horrible sight

So the crusader he sits
Forever at heaven’s door
Waiting for seasons to change
Waiting for time to change
And wake him in haste
From his morbid dream.