Verbal warfare through radical ideals

“Our Last Stand”


I wrote this poem for my gaming community almost a year ago. It’s the metaphorical and symbolic representation of who we are, and what we represent in the online world. Take it for what it’s worth, relative to the current time period as opposed to the feudal Japanese era from whence the setting is born.

The field lay colored by crimson blades of grass.

As I now kneel, wounded and battered I smirk.

For all I have spawned shall face no sunset;

Time is now scarred by endless presence.

Allowed silence; the ominous clearing turns to dusk

Footsteps are soft at first, as they begin their march.

 As the men navigate the topside cemetery,

The scenery becomes a morbid sideshow.

Bodies litter as if snow had become vile,

and remain as ash fallen upon the Earth’s surface.

A much more prominent line appears, vast and uncontrolled.

They approach in a crescent shape, encircling as if they had set the ground ablaze around me.

This large group is not of the design of man, but of a husk of their former selves.

They stare as I kneel before them, my clothing tattered and my flesh seared.

Their facades remains fierce, and uneasy in the presence of their enemy.

This is a guise best disposed of, for it is easily cast aside in favor of the fear they attempt to hide.

Countless allies lie motionless around me, already bound for the unknown.

As the legion stands in perfect circle around my form, I gaze into their line.

The mouth appears before me, faceless and behind protection, an amusing gesture of disrespect.

It calls out to me to forsake all I cherish, and grant them my last shred of free-will.

In return I shall keep my mortal life, and with that knowledge of all I betray with my actions.

As I begin to respond, words escape me. My tongue shall not be held from lashing out.

The view within in my circle though remains more potent a phrase than any could imagine.

My Daimyo; partner and kin through all conflict, stirs next to me.

Through all inflicted pain and heartache, he remains solemn and silent.

All thought is now fluid and connected, and a single grin crosses both faces.

As he watches from his future grave, he raises my katana as if in awe of possession.

As I now grasp the hilt and the blade with my fingers, a shiver seizes my spine.

The mouth approaches, in shoddy armor and false smile to claim my dignity with a weapon.

Upon entrance to my range, my grip tightens upon the sword.

This is not a surrender, it was a pact of mistrust…as even the deceased would come to recognize.

This was and will remain our last stand, for no threat is worthy of our obedience.

They want me as a specter, but to them I shall become a demon, etched into their nightmares.

As I brandish the blade, it is not an offering but a kill-stroke.

Eyes wide with shock and fear, the mouth of cowardice crumbles before me, smeared with blood.

The legion around us freezes, struck with pure disbelief in the sight of rebellion.

With a newly forged smile across my blood-stained face, I reverse my katana.

As only fitting, and with an appropriately attired sun cast behind my form

I thrust the blade into my body, piercing me through as so many before.

This is not the end, and the anguish lingering departs quickly.

My clan now an apparition, returns to the battlefield to forever feud.

Green and black banner waving behind us, we stand fortified as a venomous serpent.

Our poison is that of courage, malice, and an incorruptible thirst for the blood of burning empires.

We are The §ic; last legion to claim what is theirs by merit and sacrifice.

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