T
Tom Dilerd
Guest
The Repentant Duelers
A poem of Tom Dilerd
Oh, lo! The fight for justice takes place, a fight for decency! The drunken man, who beat his weeping child, shall taste the point of steel, the feel of Death! Oh, how adrenaline rushes, pulsing through my veins! Out came the rapiers, light dancing on its blade. Sweet Justice, oh play your part, I thought, as the blade danced, fighting off the other.
The Sound of clanging steel rang against the walls. The walls of an ancient fortress ruin, loomed over us, like Doom, ready to befall on one, or the other. The other man, I determined. Oh God! Rid this Earth of this vermin! My hand did not tire, but the attire of the drunk was dammed; his shallow breath, his rising chest, heaved high and low, to and fro. Tis time, I thought, to purge this world of this condemned portion of flesh, to the Claws of Death!
But yet, as I looked into his eyes, I saw sadness, the regret of his forthcoming demise. The way he took, that mournful look, told me that he had a confession to make; to the clergyman, and to the Church, to Kiss the Virgins Feet.
Is it possible, I thought, that I should not pierce his heart? I dared a look, around the watchers, to the undertaker, who was cloaked in black, and lastly, to the child, whose bruises still shown, like a painful reminder of the Father he did not, and would not know. He was crying, the child, and every tear that fell to the grass, a drop of guilt, of my trespass.
No more, tis done! I cried, dropping my sword. The drunk merely stood there, but a moment, and then dropped his also, and it clamored against stone, echoing through on the walls. Thank you was all he said, with an exhausted breath. He held out his arms, and the child ran to the father, and at that moment truly forgave him. The Undertaker shook my hand and went away, as I watched the watchers thankfully pray. I spoke, then to the man, who I spared from my hand, Now go to the altar, my good man! With a solemn nod, that gave me peace, he walked away, carrying the child on his shoulders. And before I turned, I saw his face: A joyful smile, a happy laugh, and I went, with no burden on my soul.
What do you think? By the way, don't take it, it's my idea (very touchy about poems)
A poem of Tom Dilerd
Oh, lo! The fight for justice takes place, a fight for decency! The drunken man, who beat his weeping child, shall taste the point of steel, the feel of Death! Oh, how adrenaline rushes, pulsing through my veins! Out came the rapiers, light dancing on its blade. Sweet Justice, oh play your part, I thought, as the blade danced, fighting off the other.
The Sound of clanging steel rang against the walls. The walls of an ancient fortress ruin, loomed over us, like Doom, ready to befall on one, or the other. The other man, I determined. Oh God! Rid this Earth of this vermin! My hand did not tire, but the attire of the drunk was dammed; his shallow breath, his rising chest, heaved high and low, to and fro. Tis time, I thought, to purge this world of this condemned portion of flesh, to the Claws of Death!
But yet, as I looked into his eyes, I saw sadness, the regret of his forthcoming demise. The way he took, that mournful look, told me that he had a confession to make; to the clergyman, and to the Church, to Kiss the Virgins Feet.
Is it possible, I thought, that I should not pierce his heart? I dared a look, around the watchers, to the undertaker, who was cloaked in black, and lastly, to the child, whose bruises still shown, like a painful reminder of the Father he did not, and would not know. He was crying, the child, and every tear that fell to the grass, a drop of guilt, of my trespass.
No more, tis done! I cried, dropping my sword. The drunk merely stood there, but a moment, and then dropped his also, and it clamored against stone, echoing through on the walls. Thank you was all he said, with an exhausted breath. He held out his arms, and the child ran to the father, and at that moment truly forgave him. The Undertaker shook my hand and went away, as I watched the watchers thankfully pray. I spoke, then to the man, who I spared from my hand, Now go to the altar, my good man! With a solemn nod, that gave me peace, he walked away, carrying the child on his shoulders. And before I turned, I saw his face: A joyful smile, a happy laugh, and I went, with no burden on my soul.
What do you think? By the way, don't take it, it's my idea (very touchy about poems)
