History culls heroes from men;
There is a cruel injustice to this.
Found in the pages of time and place,
They find themselves all but stripped.
Gone are the fearful found in stride-
Glory and nobility yoked to them.
The blood and the wrong brought by the strong-
Now witty, danger-fraught litany endeared.
History blessed those ashes of war,
Cluttered together like merciless fire.
Mingles within dances the names
Of men who never chose to collide.
Upon the tip of the flames
There are one or two forlorn men-
Slashing, terrorizing, brutalizing
That which has been labeled sin.
Gone is the passion- the furor of conquer-
Left destitute by slashing wills,
And all that is left after their deaths
Are those who hold the ink and quill.
So, painted on the canvas of parchment,
The flow of violent imagery ensues-
An agonizing destruction of myth and legend
Heralded, by writers, as