Poetry - http://maxpages.com/weepingwillow/sword_in

'A sword in the sheath'

A warrior trotted across the endless fields,
carrying a sack, his weapons, and a jewel.

A jewel given to him by his King. The gift,
out love for His subject.

The jewel was unlike any others he had ever seen;
it spoke to him and sang.
It gave greetings, and vows of love.
It was a companion only he and his King knew of,
them both only, he assumed.

The jewel was legendary around those parts,
it was said to be like capturing the twin to
your heart.

To be squandered, the others thought,
on that foolish vassal. He was hardly a fighter,
and his mouth a constant hassle.

No one understood that he was entrusted it,
as a babe is to it's mother's waiting arms.
To the death, defend, his King had ordered.
He would do his duty, if it came to that. The jewel
would be safe; he would see that.

~

As the warrior traveled across the endless fields,
to a destination only his King had foreseen.

To prosper where he could live luxurably,
as long as he would honor the orders given,
to the last have them seen.

Scuffles we had along the way.
Small ones, of little note.

To the warrior, they were as flies to shoo away,
they were not to be hated or dwelt on.

The King's enemies hated his man,
along with the prize he had given him.

But the King had told the warrior beforehand,
that powers would come unyieldingly to attack.
Enemies would encirle,
Foes would strike, pain would come,
battle was an inevitibility of his life.

But unbeknownst to the warrior was,
the presence of reinforcements not far.
They constantly shadowed and beat the hidden foes off,
The warrior noticed few battle, not the hundred fought.

But the most insidious foes looked like friendly passersby,
They would whisper sugar-coated lies,
To his prowess they would spite.

The warrior grew tired. He was far from his land,
at least it seemed.
He was far from the destination, how long had it been?

He had been told to go where man could not reach,
to do things he could not complete.

He had been accosted by foes, hidden and seen.
What life was he living, a jewel, sword and promises?

Again his jewel spoke and reminded him of why he had been sent
out. His King has adopted him into the royal house. And sending
him to be surrounded was an illusion; his Father was there; his
health proved it.

Every attempt at his life had failed. All the powers were defenseless
when his Father's hand fell. Though he could not make it to where
he had been sent alone, with remembering who he was within his
Father,
Nothing could not be done. No obstacle would stop him from moving
forward.
Name or nickname:: The Plane Master
Any comments?: This is a poem about three people: me, my God, and my girlfriend.

You could put either of us in either position (warrior or jewel).
She thinks I have a heart of gold, so it's close either way.

My King is my God. Even though it seems I'm alone sometimes,
he always has a battalion at my back. The fact I'm still alive
after some of the stuff.......it's a long story, but I have proof
of my faith.:)

signed A-
nickname 'The Plane Master'