War Poetry

Joan

I am as God made me, I have no desire,
For a mouth at my breast or a pot on the fire,
I heed the higher voices; I go where I'm sent,
To mow down the men who refuse to repent,
I'm a scythe, in a field full of briars.

And they won't call me Mother, or Sister, or Wife,
They will know me or not by the strength of my life,
I will burn with a light of my own.
They'll know me as Joan.
They'll know me as Joan.

The courage of Catherine, the flames of the forge,
Sword of Saint Michael, the blood of Saint George,
I take what I'm given, I follow my truth,
I gladly abandon the bloom of my youth,
I'm the lashing, that falls from the scourge.

And they won't call me Mother, or Sister, or Wife,
They will know me or not by the strength of my life,
I will burn with a light of my own.
They'll know me as Joan.
They'll know me as Joan.

I fight where God tells me, I never ask why,
I've bloodied the Devil, with steel from on high,
I kill without consequence, heed no Man's law.
I sift out the righteous like grain from the straw.
I am Judgment, and Heaven is nigh.

And they won't call me Mother, or Sister, or Wife,
They will know me or not by the strength of my life,
I will burn with a light of my own.
They'll know me as Joan.

They won't call me Mother, or Sister, or Wife,
They will know me or not by the strength of my life,
I will burn with a light of my own.
They'll know me as Joan.

They won't call me Mother, or Sister, or Wife,
They will know me or not by the strength of my life,
I will burn with a light of my own.
They'll know me as Joan.
They'll know me as Joan.

By Heather Dale

Joan of Arc was killed May 30, 1431

War Between Brothers

This one's a nobleman, this one's a squire
One man will sing in the heavenly choir
One will descend into hell's licking fire
But to tell which is which would take better than I

This one's a father, and this one's a son
One man was right and the other was wrong
But both of them died in the maddening throng
Carry them home, boys, to where they belong

War between brothers
Sire fighting son
Only division where once there was one
War between brothers
Son fighting sire
Kin laid with kin in the funeral pyre

These two were blinded by jealousy's flame
One pointing fingers the other to blame
One lived in rage and the other in shame
But which was the better of what they became?

War between brothers
Sire fighting son
Only division where once there was one
War between brothers
Son fighting sire
Kin laid with kin in the funeral pyre

This one's a bastard, and this one's a king
Both fought for power and what it would bring
But fighting each other they lost everything

by Heather Dale

http://youtu.be/GjTBUJU03WI