The Game

This poem is about a fencing bout. I feel it accurately describes the emotions of true fencing.

 

The Game

 

Enter the ring

calm and collected

Salute the opponent

give respect to receive respect

At a standoff we begin

 

Pacing in circles

Tapping, testing, calculating.

They flash forward

Driving

Parry

Parry

Parry

Riposte'

Again pacing

 

Tense impatience,

Lunge

Thrust

Parry

Counter

Parry

Thrust

Strike

 

An arm hanging

Useless

Press the advantage.

Distracted,

Like lightning

A glistening blade

Slides past my ear

Cutting the air

A near miss

Too comfortable

and the game goes on

 

Charged lightning explodes forth

Two equals

Never stopping

Never yielding

till death do us part

 

Parry

Thrust

Counter

Dodge

Slash

Parry

Parry

Thrust

Thrust

Lunge

Parry,

 

A liquid dance,

Increasing,

Never ceasing

till death do us part,

 

Parry

Thrust

Lunge

Forward!

Driving toward my goal

as time stands still

till death do us part

 

Then glorious victory sounds

A tip of blunted blade buried in its home

And at death do us part

 

Panting and shaking hands,

Bestowed with silent congratulations

Such elation

Leaving a field of victory

and wreaking of it

My silent battle cry echoes

Off the face of the Earth, the Moon, the stars beyond

My cry

My victory

Gained in the face of death

Respect, a gift from a foe

Author's Note

The structure reflects the movement of the bout not conventional rules.