Tags
a great host, a poem about a battle, a poem about sex, cross, cum, fortress, horde, poem about wet dreams, sex, stakes, war, wet dream
The Horde has
found me,
and the Fortress
is under seige.
Engines of War
laying waste to walls
and the battlements
are breeched.
I fall back,
refusing to use all
my powers,
the Amazons and Titans
cum, attempts to
incircle me fail.
I retreat to my Temple,
locked in,
they bang at bedroom doors
demanding entrance,
persistant banging at
my bedroom doors
and the oak slits, slinter
breaking its iron bars.
They pour in and I’m
overwhelmed.
They nailed me to a cross,
feeling spikes rending flesh
and bone.
They tie me to a stake in the
the ground setting me on fire
voices muddle moans
distantly I hear myself
scream….
Awakening in sodden sheets,
wet in my lower regions
I jump out of bed,
bare running through the
gates
to find sodden grounds
and boot tracks of a great host.
Was it only a dream,
or am I dreaming now?
