A poem on a battle.
Zela’s Rage
I can feel my pulse beating in my neck
Shaking my head
Quivering my eyeballs
The foe is charging me
It’s nothing to get excited about
So why does my heartbeat thud through my body?
This is war
It is not exciting
It is a whirlwind of weariness
Terror
Grief
Hatred
All screaming to be let out and let this nightmare end
They are on us
I duck and dodge, my keen sword cutting through their armour
I don’t know why Niangril is special
It is just like long ago, long ago
When we were young and more innocent
We are still innocents
Or else we never were
We fought in tournaments and mock combats
Now it is real
Perhaps I face some whom I fought long ago in the sunlight
It is dark
No one likes war
The sun hides her face in loathing
My hair breaks free from its bindings for the ten thousandth time
My helmet slides from my head; I can hear more deeply now
Without my panting echoing in my ears with the volume of an earthquake
My hair flies in the wind of my leaping and twisting
I long to be like my hair
Dancing with no knowledge of tomorrow
Instead I dance the dance of death