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A Samurai’s tale

“Fetch me my armor,” Kotuku said
As strategies and battle plans he thought up in his head.
Three tiny women who where very haughty
Brought him his armor and put it on his body.
Into the room burst a messenger who was very disdained
Has brought news, which he could barely contain.
“My lord”, he said very out of breath,
“A man at the gates says he has information of your wife’s death!”
“What!” said Kotuku, as his thoughts grew dim,
“What are you waiting for, Show the man in!”
At that moment, kotuku forgot about the battle at hand,
He just wanted the information from this strange man.
In walked a poor merchant, not dressed to be seen by the lord.
“I will make this short, for upon us soon will be the enemy horde.
There is a bathhouse in town called ‘The iron hand’.
There at around noon will be a dark completed man.
He was hired to murder your wife.
I hope I have not caused my lord a great deal of strife.”
“No,” said Kotuku,” you have not my friend,
For your information I’ll give you 3000 yen.”
He sent the man off and he looked at the floor
And thought, “This is the moment I’ve been waiting for.”
He went to the bathhouse and looked in every room
Until he found the man, not knowing of his doom.
“You”, he yelled out,” you have caused me great pain!
I shale not stop fighting until either one of us is slain!”
“So, Kotuku, you have figured me out.”
“I’ve had enough!” Kotuku yelled as he drew his sword out.
There they just stood, doing nothing but stare,
Waiting to see if either one moved a hair.
Kotuku made the first move, swinging with all his will.
The other man moved with just as much skill.
The fight between the two men went on and on.
Until finally, on Kotuku, it donned.
He slashed hard and up to the right,
Gashing the man’s neck and ended the fight.
He avenged his wife’s death but not without a price.
For the man had landed sword blows, wounding Kotuku twice.
Later in the day he rode in to battle,
Bouncing up and down on his horse’s saddle.
Kotuku fought long and hard,
Slashing away at the enemy guard.
At the end of the battle his wounds where too great,
He lied in his pagoda and accepted his fate.
And in his last moments, still filled with strife,
He lied there thinking that shortly, once again he’d be with his wife.

sure! Its open to anybody

Randomness!!! Because I can! scream

Thanks for the advice
I finally made it through
Walking without seeing
I just kept my mind on you

Yeay for randomness! heart blaugh

I wrote a poem about my trip to the Passion of the Christ. I'll post it later.

hey guys tell me what you think of mine, please.

Note: This poem I wrote for English class last year. It was supposed to be the rememberance of a person or event. It didn't need to rhyme so it worked out all right. My teacher said that when she read this, she nearly cried.

My Passion
I took a deep breath,
And walked into the room,
And sat next to my friends.
I was prepared.

The lights grew dim.
I look up.
There he is.
I see his face.

He's weeping, sobbing.
I don't understand why.
He faces a group of men
And is chained.

In my mind,
I know it has begun.
He gets beat upon the face,
And dangled from the chains.

I feel my stomach lurch.
I keep watching.
They walk to a temple.
He is beat and spat upon.

I feel tears build in my eyes.
He's tied to a pole,
His clothes in a pile on the floor.
People gather around him.

A couple of men take sticks.
He whispers a prayer.
They strike his back and legs.
He cries out in pain.

Tears run down my face.
Blood covers the floor.
He's breathing hard.
Blood all over his face.

I held my breath.
The men grab floggers.
They strike the man.
He cries a bloody cry.

I hide my face,
And break down crying and shaking.
A thorn crown is put on his head.
Blood running down the face.

I can't stop crying.
Guilt grips me in the heart.
He gets his clothes put on him.
He starts to carry a tree.

He can barely walk.
I just can't stop crying.
He reaches his destination.
Why can't I stop crying?

He drops to the ground,
And is flipped on his back.
I hide my face again.
A nail is placed upon his hand.

I shake, tears running down my face.
The sound of hammers,
The sound of flesh getting torn by nails,
And his cries of pain strike my ears.

Hammered to his tree, he is risen high.
I peak out with blurry eyes,
And see him covered with blood.
The blood drips off his hair and arms.

I cry even more.
Guilt strikes every bone.
He draws his last breath,
And a tear from heaven touches the earth.

We left the room.
No one made a sound.
I looked at my hands.
They still shook.

There is one thing I know for sure.
My life changed that day,
Because of one Passion.
A Passion...called Christ.

Was that directed at my poem?