Triumph and Tragedy (A battle ballad)
#19 of Writing Prompt Group Submissions
I want to state up front that I am not a poet, nor have I ever written poetry before. I wrote this piece in response to the latest assignment for the Writing Prompt Group, which had the theme "Battle". We were directed to convey a narrative within a combat scene and only write within the actual time period of the combat. That made me think something heroic and epic was needed. A ballad seemed like a good idea to satisfy the prompt.
Anyway, here is my first attempt at what may or may not be considered poetry. It is intended to be a lyrical ballad with ABCB rhyme with iambic trimeter in B and iambic tetrameter in A and C, which means eight syllables in the first and third lines and six in the second and fourth lines of each stanza with the second and fourth lines rhyming. I doubt I got all the accents right, but I gave it my best shot.
This is derived from an ongoing RP that has not been published. It tells how Magnus, an anthro-fox, lost his love, Roland. It is a pivotal moment in his life that leads him down a tragic path.
I, Magnus, am a silver fox,
A soldier since age ten;
I wear half the colors of my
Land, so cruelly riven.
A young captain in red and white,
I stand here on this day,
Partly clad by tri colored flag
Eager to join the fray.
We stand opposed by our lost half,
Who wear the colors lost,
Smartly attired in green and white.
'Tis kin war's tragic cost.
Columns of fresh crisp uniforms
Stand at the end of night.
Lined up like toy tin soldiers, just
Pawns in the general's sight.
My mate, Roland, a captain, too,
Stands somewhere to my right
Commanding columns of young men
All certain of their might;
Holding fiercely to false feelings
Of immortality,
Each believing he won't become
Today's fatality.
It is a way to calm one's soul,
Knowing the dice will roll,
And the random numbers thrown will
Determine death's grim toll.
All must believe that they will cheat
The odds that favor death.
Yet, many will lose the gambler's
Game, ending still of breath.
Civil war, the worst sort we know.
Brothers fighting brothers,
Fathers versus sons; leaving homes
Filled with grieving mothers.
Each fight a poignant tragedy.
Blood flows like a river
That fills an ocean tide, drowning
Both shores without favor.
Years of sorrow creating new
Epitaphs carved in stone
That can't crush dreams of victory
From hope carelessly sown.
Each army thirsts for victory
In a war without end.
Optimism runs high that war
Can a torn nation mend,
But 'tis doomed to be a bloody
Abattoir that adjoins
Debt in lives unredeemable
By any miser's coin.
1
The enemy was on our land
and we on the defense.
We held ground more favorable,
But their army was immense.
An artillery barrage brought
false dawn to start our day.
True sunrise made cannon halt and
Their troops to march our way.
'Twas a glorious sight to see
Columns in perfect squares,
Thousands in precise step, as if
Of chaos unawares.
Fife and drum accompany flags
Unfurled in dawn's first breeze.
Martial music stirs all hearts so
We forget our unease.
Green are yet far beyond musket
Range when a line concealed
Is crossed that triggers the command
"Fire!" and red cannons deal
Ruin while voicing "Death!" Thunder
Roars and the neat little
Columns erupt with black blossoms
That turn men's bones brittle.
Bravery fails. Training takes over.
Men march forward heedless
Of airborne murder that thins but
Fails to slow their progress.
I find my own voice when they reach
My secret boundary.
My command lost amid the smoke
And clash of Hell's foundry
As my men fire into their ranks
As one, and then reload.
Fast discovered mortality
Is the harvest we sowed.
The drummer's beat was buried 'neath
An avalanche of screams ignored
By men bent on breaking our line
With force of gun and sword,
But our volleys made them halt and
Stagger like a drunken
Serpent unsure where to strike as
It's body was shrunken.
So the middle held and my men
Did shout triumphantly
As our flanks collapsed and our foe's
Plan lost all subtlety.
Reinforcements sallied in to
save the left, but the right
Was forgotten by the gen'rals
Who had limited sight.
A dutiful soldier obeys
commands, but also must
Show initiative. When plans fail,
The best learn to adjust.
With the center safe, and finding
All other captains dead,
I gathered up two hundred men.
To save the right I led.
'Twould be a lie to claim that I
Had only motives pure.
The fate of my dear Roland was
My intent to ensure.
His banner flew upon a knoll
Surrounded by green waves
Of a hostile sea threatening
To sweep them to their graves.
With roles reversed, I attacked and
my suicide charge gained
More momentum than it deserved,
As if it were ordained
By gods who habitually
Play with our mortal lives
And derive pleasure for themselves
As naught but sorrow thrives.
Musket fire tore through our advance
As men snapped like tinder.
Deaf were we to agonized screams
Lest our charge be hindered.
Lead swarming like bees filled the air
Finding mark after mark
With the distinctive thunk that meant
More lives lost before dark.
Why none hit me is a riddle
For wise men to ponder;
Perhaps it was my dreary fate
E're alone to wander.
For good or bad, for woe or weal,
We made it through to him,
But my true purpose was for naught
As I bore the god's whim.
The tempest raged 'round our island.
For it I had no care.
'Twas luck my selfish lovers charge
Caught our foe unaware.
'Neath bodies heaped I found him hurt;
A sword thrust through his chest.
'Twas plain I'd lose my wolf afore
The sun set in the west.
Accepting fate, his spirit's paw
Reached out toward the light.
I raged and cried denying truth
Leading a hopeless fight.
Roland vouchsafed his love for me;
A crucial last address.
Why did I not exclaim the same
And yield a sweet caress?
Instead I yelled for medics where
I knew that there were none;
Though e'en the surgeon's care could not
Reverse what had been done.
Thus his body sagged in my arms
after a final breath,
My only hope to rejoin him
Lay somewhere after death.
Later I'd be hailed a hero
for deeds done on that day,
But to have my Roland back I'd
Toss victory away.
Though general great I became,
Inside I now was dead;
The deep regret of words unsaid
Forever in my head.
[END]