A Battle

By Cliff Lake

 

A Battle

 

Its smile was full of teeth,

Though the warrior had no need

Of an exact count,

Here in this distant desolation,

It was enough to know

That it had somewhat more than several.

Its claws looked both sturdy

And keen-edged,

Covered in some viscous slime,

Though whether venomous,

Or indicating an internal rotting leakage,

Seemed another superfluous fact

Of little moment presently.

The beast would circle if it could,

The manner of its attack

And what parry could be made,

Was the more pressing observation.

A sinuous thing,

With a clubbed tail it swung freely,

Large-jawed, and rapier toothed,

Powerfully haunched, and thick necked,

The human looked frail by comparison,

Armed only with a singular blade,

And what wits creation had afforded.

The creature dashed forward,

But at the last

Swings its cudgeled tail in a crushing blow,

But quick as thought,

The champion slashes with sword,

And the animal screams in pain and rage,

Affronted that something so frail

Is not overcome in rigid fright at its onrush.

Black fury fills it,

But accompanied by slyness,

It had lived too long to be bested in ease.

Now it would sidle crabwise,

Darting, lunging, evading,

Testing the reach of the blade,

Counting on its endurance to win the day,

Only to trip over its nearly severed tail,

Exposing a flank for a quick thrust.

No vital organ pierced,

But now yellow ichor spills,

The wound is open and gaping,

The hero has twisted her blade on the withdraw.

It is weakening, this being savage,

But will not disengage,

Knowing it will be tracked,

And relieved of its life…

It readies a final approach.

Its lunge is the death of it,

The exposed neck,

Tough though it is,

Is hacked and sliced with precision,

Both opponents knowing the inevitability.

The death rattle is more sigh,

A resignation at loss,

It passes from this sphere.

She burns the carcass in cleansing flame,

A roil of smoke sickens many downwind,

But this too passes.

A day elapses

Before the closer inhabitants dare the field,

But their savior has gone.

She may pass through again,

And will be fed and lodged,

And will ask no more than that,

For such is her penance

For a history she never speaks of,

And none risk asking.

Life resumes.

This is the way.

 

Cliff Lake 1/21/2024

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Location: Dalton, MA, USA

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