The Psi Warrior

I have written little poetry in my life, I’m really not very good at it, but I composed this sometime in the mid 80s after something unique and entertaining had happened in another part of the world.

The Psionic Warrior

I sit before my console,
The thumb stroking the plate.
The dials stop and read out
The number that is hate.

How new this all is to me
I, who in lives before,
With axe and sword and helmet
Strode upon the Viking shore.

I who marched with Caesar
On the bloodstained Gallic plain,
Sit alone before my meters
And number not the slain

My arrows fly so deadly
But no longer from a bow.
From eyeshot now to mindshot,
The deadly seeds I sow.

And I wear a crested helmet,
As I did in lives before.
I sit before my console
And I fight the psychic war.


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