Double Edged Sword
- I stand confidently, my skill, my art. A dedication tempered to perfection by ceaseless practice. My opponent, across the rink. He stands in a suit, his plakart, embracing the sun's rays. He draws his blade. He stands unwavering. His skill, his art.
- We are the same, pitted against one another for glory.
- I grasp the hilt of my blade. It is my only friend.
- My only friend.
- The trumpets sound.
- The time for regret gone in a wave.
- This is war.
- He holds his heater heartily.
- My chest quivers, and my mind races.
- This is not the time.
- I laugh and raise my shoulders.
- I have trained my whole life for these moments.
- I peer through my sallet.
- I have fought this battle many of times, we are like brothers.
- Yet we have never spoken.
- Never.
- I am ready for his strike.
- From behind his steely veil, a precision jab emerges.
- Deflect.
- Close in.
- He backsteppes.
- I cleave from the left.
- Duck.
- Strike.
- Parry.
- Cowyntr.
- Retreat.
- I am breathless, he always wins.
- I can never keep up, no matter my defence, he breaks through.
- He advances.
- I, in turn, open with an overhead strike. With a quick jab to the bevor, he incapacitates me. I fall on my back in surprise. Dropping my sword.
- He stands in victory again. Looking down at me with his piercing green eyes.
- I stand up and shake the sand from my cuirass.
- "I always win, why delay?" He says in a melancholy tone.
- "Because no man can slay their demons. Only stay them."
- "Then I am immortal."
- "And I a fool."
- With that exchange, we part again.
- I pick up my blade, cutting myself on the sharp edge.
- My only friend.
- My only friend is a double-edged sword.
- I laugh at this irony and take my place in the rink.
- This isn't the first time.
- And from experience, it won’t be the last.
By Roduke Yldinmani
This short poem describes the eternal struggle against one's inner demons, a very popular saying is a quote from this poem: "No man can slay their demons. Only stay them."
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