Battles in my life, I had won.
Warriors in my fight, I had scorn.
Many heroes head, I had torn.
Old as I can, fight still I can.
Live to fight every day, fight to live another day.
Many fell under my bow,
to the death god they shall go.
Who can face my sword,
as my fighting is rough.
I've just reached seventy,
but I still feed on wine and beef.
But one day, I'll lose,
I shall fall in death god's ruse,
Do not bury me in a grave, I shall die in battle with grace.
-
Author:
Hidan (
Offline) - Published: January 24th, 2011 05:54
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 55
- User favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy.
Offline)
Comments1
Even though you finish gracefully as you say, on the battlefield, shall your bones then lie in the sun and elements to be ravaged by the birds and beasts and left to whiten in the sun as testimony of the bloody life you led? Shan't we bury you honorably afterall? It is a fascinating consideration if it signifies more than the bloody skirmishes we fight here....what is it alluding to poetically?
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.