Cuchulainn’s lament

A sudden thrust: the scraping sound of steel
Against the bone, careering from the blow
His balance lost, staggering as he kneels
Upon the earth, he tries to staunch the flow.
The bloodied sword now dropping to the ground,
His battle rage now slowly dissipates.
They seek each others eyes but make no sound,
Just silence at the sadness of their fate
Three days they fought, no quarter given still,
Three nights they met to clean each others wounds,
Today they knew that one of they would kill,
And in that killing both of them be ruined.
Watching his brother slowly slip away,
He cursed the games of kings that made them play.

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