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Poetry News Post #5079

Fate

Written by: Discurean Ranger, Ahmet Ter'sez
Date: Sunday, October 9th, 2016
Addressed to: Nobody



When I was young, my best friend in the world
And I, we did fight for the hand of a girl
To take to the town's spectacular ball,
To dance with and prance with in front of them all.

Our conflict was playful, her laughter was sweet.
Two good-natured rivals, our lives felt complete.
Clickety-clack went the old, warped boards,
The light-hearted clatter of two wooden swords.

I was the stronger, alas, he more swift.
Disarmed by an underhand flick of the wrist,
Followed by a sharp stinging 'cross my face,
A marked red burn to put me in my place.

An outstretched forearm, he pulls me to my feet,
Never to boast, despite a humbling defeat.
The maiden's hand yours, yet you followed me home,
Knowing, if you hadn't, I'd sulk on my own.

I thought your choice peculiar, you'd leave her to be
Here in this place, this moment, with me.
We spent hours chatting as day turned to night,
Recounting years past by the warm firelight.

The world is stone-hearted, cold to the core,
To bring us so close that I couldn't dream of more.
Come the morn, his family moved away.
Not even a warning, they left me to stay.

Made friends with farmboys who live not far from here,
We talk and we laugh and at maidens they leer.
Years pass, yet you still bring tears I can't afford.
The only thing left of you, I destroy your wooden sword.

The young disciplined, the elders forlorn,
Our once-peaceful nation, now militant. Wartorn.
But soldiers make livings, so I join rank and file.
We leave how to fight as we march every mile.

An innocence lost, an appetite bred.
A hunger consuming, roaring to be fed.
They all fell the same, serfs just as lords,
Men just as women, before our iron swords.

More often a massacre than a real fight.
But it mattered not, for we were in the right.
My strength was a blessing, my size was a boon.
Before long the leader of my own platoon.

My cold iron sword ended many a life,
Despite all the hatred, the internal strife.
Onwards and upwards, now considered the best,
Years came and went 'fore my one true test.

A plain stretched before us, thousands to be seen,
But I had her faith, chosen by the queen.
On behalf of my people, a champion I'd be,
To stop all this bloodshed, to set us all free.

I was to ride out, to fight one-on-one.
If I was the victor this all would be done.
No more childhoods lost for this war,
No more boys dead at the end of their swords.

I walked towards Death, He met me halfway.
Full plate and helmet, not one word to say.
And so it began, my dance with the end,
As the steel swords rang out again and again.

An underhand feint, an opening He sees.
A blow to the shins, I fall to my knees.
A sting 'cross my face, a line drawn in red.
Death showed me His mercy and left me my head.

It couldn't be true, I couldn't believe
He'd earned his victory and turned to leave.
His plate split in two with an echoing crack.
I whisper, "I love you," my sword through his back.

He falls to all fours, saying naught but the same.
And as he exhaled his last breath, my name.
This was it, what I had fought for.
I turn to depart, leaving my sword.

I turn from the army that once I did hate.
I turn from my queen, where valour awaits.
I hold the silent eyes of one million men
As I walk south, never to see them again.

I walk to the south, and I walk alone.
After so many moons, I find my new home.
Not one tale of my past, I look ever forwards,
But I will remember forever, those two wooden swords.


Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Glacian, in the year 724 AF.


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