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.