Canto 1
Canto 1
‘The
darkness was suffocating,
Silent he stood, ruminating
On what
he knew would soon begin,
On what he’d done and what he’d
been
Which would repeat upon the bell:
A damning or redeeming
knell.
Cries rose beyond the double gate
Some filled with love,
but most with hate,
Cursing to death or cheering on
The
warriors as they lost or won.
The stakes were high; once
entertained
The crowd grew wild and unrestrained.
A thrilling
hush swept through the air
And no one had a breath to spare
To
stir the stillness which did wait
For the threatening sword of
fate
To slay the foe or leave his life
Long enough to renew the
strife.
Panting, straining, plunging – the bell
And shrieking
sound of voices fell
Upon Emindor’s ears. He sighed
And knew
another man had died.
But little time it took to change
The
bloody sand upon the range,
After which trumpets rang a
shout
Bidding the new contesters out.
The golden helmet fitted
round
Emindor’s head, and with the sound
Of cheering crowds
and groaning door
He stepped on the Arena floor.
Ten yards
beyond the center line
Another warrior stood. The shine
Of
silver plate and blue-gray eyes
Reflected the o’ershadowed
skies
Foreboding rain. The Master’s rule:
Not even storms
would stop the duel.
A
slow, faint nod Emindor gave
To the man who might dig his grave
Or
be dug for. Neither could know
‘Pon whom the Eastern wind would
blow.
Their names were shouted to the crowd
And with a flourish
each man bowed,
Knowing his place within the game,
Needing not
hear his chanted name
Upon the tongues of the poor crew,
But
cheering was all they could do.
Weapons were drawn; the sun
glanced bright
Upon the gold and black-as-night
Twin blades in
Emindor’s strong hands,
Linked to his wrists with leathern
bands,
Stud by green gems and serpent’s gall,
Which dripped
down blackened blades to fall
In little pools which dent the
sand.
Upon his crest and helmet-band
Twisted the writhing forms
of snakes
Encrust’ with gems and golden flakes.
The bell is
rung – the fight begins;
The warriors strive like demon
twins.
Blood falls and shouts of pain are heard;
Opponent’s
face crushed in the dirt.
Wild screams, battle-cries, all the
noise
That the blood-thirsty crowd enjoys.
Each man here knows
the more he plays,
The better fights, the longer strays,
That
much more chance that he or his
Opponent will be crowned with
Bliss
And treated by the Master well.
Who cares to fight for
Heav’n or Hell?
These men are brothers of the field,
The
dripping weapons that they wield
Are slick with unshed, broken
tears,
Are crusted by the many years
Of slavery wherein they’ve
fought
The endless cycle they are caught
In until one or other
dies
And lets his soul into the skies
Where freedom has not
hunger’s burn,
Where nevermore need he return
To barracks,
cells, where whips and cords
Are all the gain triumph affords.
The
man is down! The silver-clad
Has tripped and fallen on his
blade!
There in the bloody sand he lies
The rain falling in his
blue eyes.
Over him now Emindor stands
Holding the sword in
both his hands.
He meets his friend’s now peaceful
eyes,
Whispers “Farewell the man who tries.”
His friend
nods slow and looks away;
Emindor sends his soul away.
The
cheering echoes through the storm,
Amusement of another’s
harm.
Still as a stone the winner stays,
Meeting his friend’s
now empty gaze,
Wishing he could turn back the clock,
Wanting
to take the final knock,
Wondering if death is not free,
More
free than all this fame could be.
The gladiator looks
away;
Resolves to die some other day.’
1 people are talking about this
Woah! :O
ReplyDelete“And no one had a breath to spare” that describe me perfectly rn. I am ENTRANCED
This is AMAZING AHHHHHHHHH I AM HOOKED!!!
I love the way you took a pretty standard opening but completely transformed it to be like nothing I’ve ever seen before!! Amazing!!!