Demoralized and desperate, the French may be,
To depend upon a modest child such as thee.
Visions sent from the Divine; angels whisper low,
Dear Jeanne, be prepared, for fate drenched in woe.
Armor seems unfit for thy tiny, slender frame,
'tis an unfair shield in wake of this dark, political game.
Though sword arm's weak, and thy knees do quake,
Lean upon me, mon cheri – I shall not let thee break.
With a soul of a warrior and heart of fire,
A saint pure; yet humble to lead through mire;
You fight so hard, without fear, for God and for I…
Just a sweet, timid child…I have to ask, why?
For thee I leave my home, rolling hills so wide,
To don this heavy sword, to fight by thy side.
Fear is but a luxury that I cannot afford,
So I shant dwell! I go amidst the clamor of hordes!
My dear sweet country, my home of France,
Hold to thy banner amid this bloody sword dance.
No longer see me leading little lambs; but thy armies instead,
I shall not shy away till I cut off the White Dragon's head!
Jeanne…such passion, such faith; I cannot express,
Though young; surely you are divinely blessed.
A halo of gold, a beacon of hope in the night!
Victory always follows in wake of the fight!
By thy wit and thy sword, the foe runs in fear,
But alas! We nigh expected Angleterre to adhere!
"Leave!" You cried desperately; even as you bled,
I cursed that God that tore me away to leave you for dead.
Dark and alone; confined to shackles and chain.
Don't let their voices beat you into shame!
Dry those silent tears my dear…comfort thy tender heart.
Not death, nor iron bars, shall ever keep us apart.
I am alone. Forsaken, as a prisoner here,
Even so, proudly I stand for my country dear.
Why look so forlorn? It's martyrdom I embrace,
For love of my God…and country, it's the stake I'll face.
I do so gladly, without remorse or regret,
Cry not, mon amour, for this they won't forget.
When Cardinal's prose had no avail,
When a Lord's servant, by only grace prevailed,
When a Nation fears loss, both war of words and blade,
So horribly so, he must kill the feeble maid.
In God's great name, and for you France, I die,
And it is next, to an eternal court I fly.
In exchange for brief pain, I'll ascend above;
Tis only a shame I leave behind him whom I love...
What words you speak; such courage and grit,
But as you walk, I see fear you'll nigh admit.
Silent and proud, clinging only to thine cross,
What cruelty; I shall never regain this love I have lost…
"How beautifully she burns", came a callous remark,
Green eyes, a smirk, "But thus expires Jeanne d'Arc."
It's been a while since I've tried my hand at poetry...but this popped into my head, and this was the end result!
Thank you for reading. *bows*