Happy Barricade Day to all my fellow fans! It's my first Barricade Day and I am ridiculously excited!

Have a poem to celebrate... um, to celebrate the deaths of those fictional people you love.

The cries around him multiply-

He doesn't want them all to die-

Where is your hat? A comrade calls,

They've taken it with cannon-balls.

The countless corpses, friends and foes-

His hand delivers killing blows,

While heart and soul in anguish crawl-

Pain deepens with each cannon-ball.

Around him bullets rage and pour-

His legs won't hold him anymore,

A shot- and then- the center falls,

No longer plagued by cannon-balls.


The guide with vision faded, gone,

A tomb all flooded with the dawn,

No hope- despair, no life- forget-

Falls pierced and red with bayonet.

My mother- mother… I prefer…

My mother! I've forgotten her!

He struggles, gasping, hurt, regret-

Defeated by the bayonet.

With eyes still fixed upon the sky

And to be free his silent cry-

The light will come… they'll see it yet…

Last breath destroyed by bayonet.


It's over. In the light he stands,

A broken weapon in his hands,

No tremor in his stance or eye,

A golden flower here to die.

Alone, a chief with people dead,

With folded arms, no joy ahead,

So shoot me now. Eyes covered? No.

A flower's image set aglow,

Untouched by wound and wreathed in pride-

Apollo's sun, a moon beside-

A smile, though the fight's unwon.

A flower killed… twelve shots as one.