I and You: A Poem of Dying Together

November 5, 2011
By Victor_Hagar SILVER, Dublin, Ohio
Victor_Hagar SILVER, Dublin, Ohio
6 articles 0 photos 30 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It's always important to give your arguments impact." Fallout 3, Strength Bobble-head.


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.


The author's comments:
I want the start of this, "Author's Note," to begin nicely since I know nothing of poetry. Actually, that is quite the lie, for I DO know many things about how it is done, such as the rhythm and people who do it -- my favorite poet, Robert Frost, being a grand example. What I refer to when I say I know nothing about it is that I know nothing of WRITING the poetry; yet to contradict this I can interpret others writing relatively well.

So here I go:

I think I'll start explaining where the writing came from now, if I could. Like many other of my ideas, this particular story came to me as I was sitting on the toilet, doing what animals do. Don't get me wrong! I don't just sit on the toilet all day thinking of ideas, it's only one place where things come to me (and come FROM me). Other places where I'm struck by new ideas include can include woods, places I go when I take walks, on the bus when I ride from school; and my bed at night, when the crickets chirp the loudest, and I can't seem to go to sleep.

I and You was just a brief imaginary bubble, but as I thought about it I began to desperately need to write it. I logged onto Google Docs, ready to write, but then a thought came to me:

"Victor~" the persona who embodies my imaginative side said to me. "Don't just write it like you make usual stuff."

"What do you mean?" I asked tentatively; I'm still not quite used to him speaking up, even after a couple of years of writing.

"Well, you always just write a short story, and you never explore...OTHER mediums of literature."

"Do you mean, what, poetry?"

I felt him grin.

"Huh uh, no way. I SUCK at poetry, and you know that!"

"Vic~tor." He echoed. "You know you want to Victor."

"I...I guess I could write it like that....Just a little though! No putting this up anywhere!"

And so, I find myself here, writing a description longer than the actual piece. What the heck ever, though. I kinda liked doing it, and if it makes the dude inside my head quiet down than its a win-win scenario. And enjoy, if you can.

P.S. I only put this under ballads because I have no freakin' idea what else it could be.
...Wait, I could've put it under others but I -- well...you get the picture.

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