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It was a cold and wintry night
When the unknown legion rose up from out the mud
Their clothes were torn and bloody from their last ferocious fight
Tattered remnants of proud tartan kilts covered with dark, dried blood.

Rank upon rank of un-dead soldier, marching the long and winding road
The silver moonlight glints off their fearsome parade
Marching, Marching ever onward, their progress never slowed.
Many a brave warrior has fallen before their blades.

Cold blank eyes staring straight ahead
A relentless killing machine, monstrous in proportion
The legion keeps on marching, the legion of the un-dead.
It's searching, always searching this monstrous un-dead legion

The legion of the un-dead
No colours or standards have they
Cold blank staring eyes instead
Reminiscing about their last day.

These un-dead warriors crave revenge for that fateful day
When their life was so cruelly taken away.
So my friends do beware, let not your paths ever meet,
For you will surely meet your death, beneath the marching skeletal feet.

So this message I will give you once and only once,
Beware the un-dead legion, you shall not meet them twice!

© Copyright 2003 RandomGoth (FictionPress ID:373522). All rights reserved. Distribution of any kind is prohibited without the written consent of RandomGoth.

Yours in randomness!
Dreams On Hiatus
That's very interesting. Some of the lines I had to read twice because they didn't sound quite right. For example:

"When the unknown legion rose up from out the mud"

It feels choppy. Perhaps if it said 'out of the mud' it might not sound different.

I dunno - you don't have to take my suggestion. Good job though. smile.gif
lmao @ "reminiscing about their last day"

I love the imagery there, though I think it might be a little off-topic for such a grim poem. I just can't think of anything other than a couple of zombies sitting in big leather armchairs (suitably rotten) infront of a blazing fire (one might have a dead cat on his lap), sharing a few glasses of brandy and saying things like "You remember old Glassjaw, boffin?" "Why yes, old chap, had that pike thingy stuck up his-" "Ha! yes, he still can't sit down upright now, you know. They had to bury him in his coffin upside-down, and they use the thing to hang his obituary on!" (much guffawing).
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