I stood there, muscles strained and tense
as cold rain dripped down my sword like silk
and sent a shiver down my spine –
but I kept my strength, watching
as a brave warrior went forth
his hand at his side, ready to draw blade
his eyes glistening, calm with quiet intensity.
And as foreboding clouds slowly billowed over
with the heavy scent of rain
with the deep, distant thunder rumbling,
I realized in that moment
that these were the eyes of our brave warrior
now midfield between two armies.
He stood there, resolute,
the strongest of our clan’s warriors
showing to the enemy a pressing confidence
that one only ever earns in battle.
We watched the lines for some sort of challenge –
perhaps they too had a hero of their own
to face ours in true warrior’s fashion.
And from the battle lines issued forth a single man
some warrior monk, wielding sword and spear,
cloaked in white religious robes
wearing plain unpainted wood armor –
and while I could not see his face,
I knew that this man was an honorable foe.
The air was uneasy but quiet
as we watched for an eternity for the moment
when two great warriors would meet in battle,
to decide the fate of two great armies.
With frightful cry, both warriors charged at once and met
as sword flashed like lightning against thrusting spear
when in just one moment’s loss
both warriors paused
as one fell to the ground
giving words of honor
wishing he had only
held on to life
just a little
– Adam Taylor Green, 2012