The pungent fluid coursing through the veins,
The headless horsemen holding on to the reins.
A nauseating scenery and the spreading chill
Supernatural powers buried under the hill.
Ancient knights jousting in the cold
Bringing back to life, yarns of the old.
The crowd egging them on: the dust rising
Readying for battle; their armour shining.
Waiting for the sun to rise, the challenging dawn
Both are sure of their might, one will be proven wrong.
Skill and speed, and tactics grand,
Facing the enemy; the erstwhile friend.
The elegant steeds rearing, the thundering hooves,
Their sinewy coats and the evasive moves.
Aristocratic honour; a battle unto death,
Warring with the foe till the last bit of breath.
The dying gasp; the victorious cheer,
The smile of the winner; the fallen’s blood stained gear.
The quiet evening in the neanderthal land,
.
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