I wrote this poem long time ago.
Mysteries of the night
From a distant Coorhagen, weary traveler stops upon a sign,
“Tavern! I might find some rest here and drink some wine.”
He pushes the door and sees nothing but empty place,
But yet just behind the door, there was the innkeeper's face.
“The tavern is closing - best be on your way, stranger”
says an agitated innkeeper, as if he was foreseeing danger.
With common greetings , nobleman asks for a mug of ale,
But innkeeper keeps rejecting - “There is nothing for sale”
And so the nobleman left, with cold heart and soul,
Forced to the road of night and grim and ghastly stroll.
As soon as he left, group of bandits was lurking around,
He could hear something ominous, but with no sound.
“That’s him!” - triggers men to pull out their swords,
And so did the nobleman, bravely running forwards.
Faced with certain death, he strikes fast and vicious,
While killing some of them who were too ambitious.
Parry after parry, he could not resist no more,
After receiving a lethal strike he fell on the floor.
Death was nearly there, so close to grasp it,
One final hit in the back and he has found respite.
_________________Cole: "Phoebe I would do everything for you but don't ask me to be a coward".