Hastings

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Hastings

A cloud on the horizon
no bigger than a small boy’s hand
turns into a sail and then
a sailing fleet,
an armada of hostility
sailing towards our shores.

Shield upon shield the shield wall
binds itself together,
becomes impregnable

Loud the clamor,
the raising of voices,
the heavens split asunder
by a sharp hail of arrows,
closer the enemy now,
and arrows become spears
their sharp heads
tumbling from the turbulent sky.

Fate hangs now on a single arrow
protruding from the royal eye.

Faith falters.
The shield wall, firm at first,
breaks now and the house carls,
one by one,
fall like corn
beneath sharpened blades,
to wither and die as all men die.

7 thoughts on “Hastings

  1. I was in Hastings recently… it was quite rundown with all those grand Victorian houses gone to seed. The Great Beast Aleistair Crowley dead in a boarding house with less than a pound to his name there as well. Sorry I am veering here, I know you are referring to 1066 and it excellently done.

    Liked by 1 person

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