“Thyself”
Nothing was left, the time is near,
All that was or will be is here.
Breathing slowly, feeling no fear,
Debts come due, the cost very dear.
Hands grip mastercrafted, cold steel,
Cut deep! They will know what I feel.
No quarter given, no new deal,
Long journey complete; turns the wheel.
Burning bright, vengeance by fire,
Need born of circumstances dire.
Must strike fast, hard - and not tire!
The stakes could not climb much higher.
Off the sharp blade, a glint of light,
No doubt that this cause is right.
Mind, body, spirit… filled with might!
A dance, a feint, begins the fight!
Their too familiar eyes shone cold,
Painful thoughts show terrors untold.
My opponent’s moves far too bold,
Locked in fierce battle, winds blow cold.
Naught left of time, my hate they’ll know!
Lost to rage, soul no longer grows.
Sorrow forever, flew one crow…
Parry, counter, run through! Their blood flows.
To their knees, looking to the sky,
This place, their place, this time to die.
Broken to earth, never shall fly,
With sad awareness, muffled cry…
“My own steel sword, struck me down, why?
‘Tis true! My own enemy, I!”
-- J.R.H.
About the Creator
Jack Drake
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