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I was a drifter,alone, unafraid,
All I had to my name was my sword,
My broken, yet true steel wrought blade,
Wandering like ship lacking a good, strong moor.
I wandered north, and the daughter,
Of a Zhao general took me in,
Those years I stayed were full of laughter,
as we plotted the demise of the King of Qin.
I gained of her, my friend,Flying snow,
A root I lacked since I was a child, Her fee,
That I practised the arts of the sword against my foe,
Learning its deepest secrets in calligraphy.
After Three years had passed, we deemed,
it time to attempt the slaying of the Tyrant,
Qin Shi Huang Di, a madman it seemed,
In calligraphy I saw on him another, radical slant.
We two rode through the lands of Zhao,
Into the western lands of Qin, where flood
of rivers of water filled the land, but now
I swore soon their rivers would flow with blood.
We two bold warriors, with between us two swords,
We forced our way through thick wooden doors,
Our blades did sing death to the royal guards,
More dead soldiers than stones on the palace floors.
While my companion held the troops off,
I strode into the great kings chamber,
Determined that never would I my honour doff,
I faced the King, sword in hand, Zhao's constant danger.
We fought and parried, sword against sword,
with swift blades, our minds both fey,
During the struggle, neither of us spoke a word,
Not one for the blood of the other did bay.
I moved gracefully out of range and,
stood unstirred like tree in no breeze,
And ten paces away my feet did land,
My sword hung limp around my knees.
The King of Qin ran directly at my figure,
My sword shone like a burning Brand,
I knew what I must do, my aim was sure,
It would be the end of all that we had planned.
His brutal thrust ,it went awry,
My sword with ease knocked it aside,
He seeing this, had no time to cry,
For aid, ere my sword edge across his throat glided.
Yet I had learned a lesson that day,
Against my head rebelled my hand,
I knew the tyrant, that he must stay,
So he could bring peace to a war stricken land.
So He survived, the object of my "hate"
I knew many more would die and lands would burn,
Yet maybe I was made a tool of fate,
To bring to pass what he could do alone:
Unification..................
This is mephiston here. This poem is based on the movie Hero by Zhang Yimou ( the bits with Broken sword and flying snow where they attack Qin shi huang Di)
Please comment if you wish on it. Any comments would be appreciated.
thanks
Mephiston.
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"This is the hour of the Shire-folk, when they arise from their quiet fields to shake the towers and counsels of the Great. Who of all the Wise could have foreseen it? Or, if they are wise, why should they expect to know it, until the hour has struck? "
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