A friend of mine challenged me to write a poem about a fight between Cloud and Ruby Weapon, so here it is, sorry if it's not the best, I haven't played the game in years.
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Gather 'round and listen to my tale
of long ago, from days of old,
of a mercenary turned people's warrior.
Rebellion he choose, to take the up the sword;
and to defend the world
from a foe that would seek to destroy it.
Hair blond like the sun, eyes like the sky,
His name too bore a heavenly body.
Cloud was his name.
Many battles he fought, many enemies he faced.
But one stood out of all the rest.
Of precious gems dug from the earth,
Of armor strong forged in the hot sand of the Corel Desert,
Standing tall over the dunes and adventurer alike
The Ruby Weapon was a might foe,
needing a great many skills,
and the possessing of materia to rival a king's.
Too short was the quest, too long the battle.
Too late was it known
of armor impossible, and limbs long
with giant claws, and brutish strength.
A ferocious foe worthy of a fight.
Rushing forth, Cloud charged
drawing his Buster Sword as his comrades screams
Metal against metal, steel against steel
under the hot desert sun
upon the hot desert dunes.
Lightening called forth to darken the sky
Fire summons to burn flesh and turn sand into glass
Summoning comets from on high,
Crushing skulls and splattering flesh
The vicious foe fights
Drawing forth a verocious cry from the foe
He hears behind him,
"His sword is always ready to fit a hole"
As his blade finds a weakness in the armor
and the foe swipes in rage.
Dodging he realizes all too late
His last standing companion on his journey
no longer stood behind him strong.
The slash meant for him, the blow he cheated
had found another.
Hard she fell and hit the sand
gently she rolled down the dunes.
The sands of time seemed to slow as he watched
her eyes grow distant and dull,
and as the wind caress her hair across her face
as if soothing her to sleep.
Short the quest, long the battle
Longer still, it seemed, that moment in time when rage built.
Hardening his heart and turning his eye
he faces the Weapon once again
charging he screams, like a raging storm.
His sword clashes and his steel bites,
his materia sears,
until finally the foe falls back,
back to the hot desert sands in which he came,
shrieking as it struggles to climb the dunes
To reach the man with hair of sun, and eyes of the sky
Whose name, too, bore that of a heavenly body.
But too pitiful were the attempts against this man,
this Cloud turned storm.