Facing the Battousai
On a night what was yet dark and cold
Beyond the terror of flames licking bold,
Outside the chaos of the heat and pain
And screaming shouts of those being slain,
I saw the scene my mind denies seeing
The image from which my thoughts go fleeing.
He moved like a shadow- a wraith, not a man-
Soundless and quick like lightning he ran.
Clenched in one fist, the glitter of steel
Dripped with a crimson too bright to be real.
But too real were the bodies, too real the death
That wavered in the air like a gasping last breath.
As I stood frozen he perceived I was there,
And fixed me in place with his hot yellow glare.
Not a living soul lingered, save he and I,
But in my heart I believed I too would die.
Yet, paused in his killing, the assassin stood still,
The blade in his hand hesitant to kill.
We stayed thus a while, staring each other down,
Till he stepped forward without smile nor frown
To speak to me in a voice both quiet and cold,
His sharp killer's eye a thing to behold:
"I am the dark swordsman, the son of strife.
Fall not into the path of my sword or my knife."
Then away he sprang, from sight to disappear,
Leaving me alone in the night with my fear.
A moment longer motionless I stayed,
Till the shock of the meeting began to fade
And, regaining my senses, the city I fled,
Escaping with this story, and living- not dead.