The Service Poem by Matthew Routledge

The service is one of honour,
An honour of the lord
Who sent thy lord down?
Was it you or I?

Have they seen the darkness?
Behind my eyes
The pure and clean darkness,
That lurks inside my mind.

Behind my eyes the duty carries on
Through thick and thin
I find no hope
And fear no lose

Must the duty always carry on?
Is there no release?
Will there be a day when all this will end?
Will there be a summer day in which I will be free?

The truth of the service belongs to mystery
An ancient work
Of old and
Dead kings

A ballad rings from roof to roof
The siren screams
The final fight
The battle is now upon us

As the swords fall
The honour of men falls
And through the field every face
Is twisted with fear

And as my time grows nearer
I see their faces
All broken in the sun
And as I wait for the end I see his face grin

Those eyes that stare at me
Those heartless cold eyes
His mouth begins to move
I hear the laughter brought on by a good days work

Let them see his face
I will show you
And there is no harm
In stabbing the beast

I must take them to a land beyond your eyes
A place of happiness and freedom
His feet will never walk this ground
And his hands will never touch the walls of these halls

He will never gaze upon the glory of this land
He is destined to burn in hell
For this man hell is too good
This will be his punishment for mongering war