Azurne
The Local Trickster
- 77
- Posts
- 16
- Years
- Seen Aug 19, 2011
This is another prose poem, and the last one, I promise you. I won't pollute your poetry section anymore after this. :P
Courage
Courage
The weight of his sword feels heavier than it had before he left, once a necessary weight, now a burden upon his back; the boy stares at the mouth of the cave, a wide jaw with a row of jagged teeth. On the right lies an old man, dead like a stuck pig readied for feast. On the left lies a young boy, no older than himself. The sword gets heavier, and the boy isn't sure if he'll be able to swing it properly. He glances around, from the littered bones on the earth to the tangled roses creeping on the outside of the cave. The fine end of the sword digs into his back, pressing through the thick cloak his mother had made. The handle burns a torrid red, like the scaly hide of a dragon's back. The sword is nearly twice as heavy as he is now, heavy like the fear deep within his chest. The boy wrestles and fights with it, and attempts to remove the sword. It falls to the dirt with a muted thud, weighted by the souls of the hundred lives depending on it. He looks to the heart of the cave, frightened and weakened by the overpowering stench of charred flesh. His palms are sweaty, and slip on their grip of the cold handle. The boy nearly panics and wants to run to the safety of his village, except for a small pink flower that falls from his pack and settles at his feet. The boy hesitates, but scoops up the flower and places it between his shirt and armor, just above his heart. A flower from his mother's garden, cut fresh from the day of his departure. He remembers the village, or what remains of it. The sword lays still, quiet and unfeeling, leaden with nothing but tempered metal. The boy tightens his grip, and heaves it over his shoulder, bearing the weight. He swallows the fear which had manifested as a lump in the back of his throat, then takes a few steps, and charges into the blackness of the cave. The sword gradually lifts, and with one fell swing makes contact.
