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I and You: A Poem of Dying Together

The moon shone, the lightning struck,

And all was a patter of rain,

Thunder boomed and without obstruct,

Came an endless searing pain.

We wondered then, the man and I,

What was the cause of our fight?

To seek revenge, to end an oath,

Or just to finish a maiden’s plight?

But it was none of those, not any of the above,

Instead a thing of honor,

And a kind that, which, at the end of it’s course,

Would scatter us both asunder.

We continued to clash with steel against steel,

The force rising with each powerful strike,

And as the skin of our fingers began to peel,

We started to understand each others might.

A cut and a slash would slice the rain,

Adding, again, to the insurmountable pain,

But the blood would never begin to stain,

For the rain covered us with its loving disdain.

Time stopped, slowed, and sped again,

At the pressure of our mixing emotions,

Due to the fact they were as thick as lead,

We could perceive our mind’s corrosion.

At last, an opening!

A chance for the final strike!

We swung like the hands of a clock together,

Savage intent and anger alike.

It is ironic, to think then,

That both our swords had swung true,

And while we had killed our opponent,

We had been scheduled to do so too.

As we collapsed to the ground,

With metal protruding gaudily from our chests,

I said to my comrade-in-pain,

“Will this be for the best?”

“A draw then!” He laughed,

“Witnessed from our maker in the sky!”

“All right then!” I agreed,

“An end fitting for me; I shall die.”

I joined his chuckle, true and true,

And thought everyone should die in pairs of two.

Because then, if they did, what else could they say?

That they couldn’t end the opponent, how could’ve they stayed?

They would join their brethren in heaven,

All alone in their last rite,

But me and my enemy from the ground,

Will go arm in arm, not separated by spite.

“At last,” I did say to him,

“A toast to you and me today,

Because we shall spend the rest of our forever,

Bleeding in this heavy rain.”

“Aye, you speak true.”

The fellow warrior agreed.

“It is wonderful to die in honour,

And not to do so by unfaithful deed”

“Ah, so it is, but enough with these cliché’s.”

I spoke with providence, and free from derange,

A let out a long sigh, and lay back ,

And I let out my inner rage.

I yelled out for enlightenment,

I yelled out for the day,

I yelled for my friends,

Who would never see me another day.

My comrade screamed with me, until he choked,

And with a long winded gasp, he died with a pitiable croak.

I sat on the mud and surveyed my wound:

A deep terrible gash, over which my wife would’ve swooned.

I guess it’s too late then, for me to begin to cry,

Because at that very moment, I sorrowfully died.

Yet, if I could say more, I was very willing to try,

Me, being a warrior, I’ve know it my destiny to die.

How great,

So wonderful.



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