The Emperor’s Guards
A mighty army stands
beneath pounds of rust-coloured dust
at the foot of the
majestic Mount Li.
Two thousand years without battle,
lying dormant in their stoic stillness,
steadying their nerves for
the day the battle cry is heard.
Chariots and horses,
arrows and bows.
8,000 men, willing to fight
to save the soul of their beloved
First Emperor.
Clay figures,
baked as funerary art,
awoke from their years of slumber
to the sound of Yang Zhifa’s drill.
The world watched in awe,
as this vast necropolis of terracotta
yielded
its ancient treasures, and Qin’s soul—
so long protected—
tasted freedom and finally took flight.
The Writer In Me . . . 
This is awesome! Well-written and great concept
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks, Kayla! I don’t usually write this kind of poem, but I read an article about this, and it fascinated me.
LikeLiked by 1 person
The fascination definitely bled through your work
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you. 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person