A War Lost In Surprise
A pretty girl is his downfall
A young boy was outside exploring his countryside
Riding his three wheeler bike through wheat fields,
Although in his imagination it’s rugged forests instead
And fights with hidden Indians, bow and arrows wield.
***
He is winning the battle as he sneaks up on his enemy
As this three wheeler is really his trusted war steed,
They race under trees, he ducks and shoots his arrow
Catching his enemy in surprise and making him bleed.
***
He gazes as far as he can see, the Indians running
He has them on the move, terrified of his prowess,
And he grins slyly, knowing he has bested the rest
Not far away a white flag is waving upon the crest.
***
He is the king of all the land where he stands tall
Won by his courage and outstanding battle strength,
They were no match for him, standing totally alone
His determination to win, pushing him to any length.
***
He has collected three captives, tied to his steed
As he drags them along behind him, as he returns
Proudly entering the courtyard of his fortified castle
Where he plans to build a pyre and watch them burn.
***
Then a yell from his guard tower makes him turn
As he tries to see what it is they are pointing out,
He cannot believe his eyes, it can’t possibly be true
As he shakes his head, he can see without a doubt.
***
See’s a bright light at the end of the forest (wheat field)
And slowly emerging from that light is an ancient turtle,
The old shell is covered in forest plants (wheat shoots)
Surrounding in the middle, a solitary tree of crepe myrtle.
***
He dismounts from his steed (three wheeler tricycle)
And stands frozen, gazing up at the turtle in pure awe,
He lets go of his bow and arrow (actually a red balloon)
Noticing on the back of this turtle, a pretty Indian squaw.
***
The tables have turned and he is suddenly the loser
Of a war he has forgotten as he gazes up at her above,
His heart begins to beat furiously, like never ever before
As it recognises this beauty as his future Queen, his love.
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Originally posted on Medium
About the Creator
Colleen Millsteed
My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.
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Comments (3)
I don't know how you do it. You are a master poet. I congratulate you again on another wonderful piece. Thank you my friend
This is well done. Poor little guy got felled by Cupid's arrow.
I loved this tale! You're just so brilliantly creative 💖