A figure he stood, silhouetted in the light,
He drew a line, to run or fight?
To cause the blood that all would dread
Or rather flee to world ahead.
Across the line the souls of man
Walked stout with pluck to lend a hand.
But one not followed all the crowed
His mind made up, his shoulders bowed.
At inquiry he resisted
The cry of war he'd long enlisted.
For memories of long darkened days
Haunted him in head ached craze.
Just in time to rid himself of the doomsday stand,
The man escaped to to further place, and lived to tell the land.
He spoke of many thousands, them marching forth to war.
To kill the ones he'd run from, they'd bring down stony door.
A sleep fell to the ones who'd stayed to stand in fear and glory.
Though doubtless was the climax and clincher of the story.
Soon to be brought to ending, soon to dwell in death.
Soon to bid farewell to loved ones, with last and final breath.
Time had sprung to give it all in name of freedom's ring.
Thus whistling wild with grand debut, the musket shots did sing.
The melodies of surefire, a song sung out of strife.
A tune to pierce you to the heart, or simply end your life.
The crimson blood did pour like rain, and ruby were the streets.
Where those who joined arrived to late, who viewed the failed feat.
They found the lifeless bodies, 'neath thunderclouds of woe.
And battle cries of fallen echoed: “Remember the Alamo.”
The true accounts of battle, so kept quite privily,
Should not be thought upon so light in all of history.
Forget not what has happened.
Forget not what you've heard.
Those warriors died with honor.
But remain a whispered word.
It inspired me to draw this picture
I kinda want to use this as my "hand drawn picture" (no pun intended) for extra credit, but I'm not sure if there's really any true connection between it and the poem.
Waddya think?
God Bless,
Ka-Plink
