Written earlier this summer. The imagery came to my mind after reading the Wheel of Times, although the final version ended up being different than any image that the series conjures in my mind.
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Two warriors,
body of stone,
heart of iron,
mettle of steel,
face each other.
One clad in red armor, in the color of blood,
the other black, in the color of hopes and dreams broken;
they stare at each other.
They bleed,
blood of red, blood of black,
from the corners of their eyes.
The ground rumbles in rage beneath their feet.
The thunder threatens in rebellion far away, but so distinct.
The world holds its breath.
The creation feels its destruction.
In the locked swords of the warriors,
lightning dances.
They fight evenly,
drawing on the deepest of their reserves to find strength.
It's as much a contest of will as it is of strength.
Worlds will be remade in the image of the victor.
You and I,
by the arena,
hold our breaths.
To know.
Who will budge first?
Who will give an inch?
body of stone,
heart of iron,
mettle of steel,
face each other.
One clad in red armor, in the color of blood,
the other black, in the color of hopes and dreams broken;
they stare at each other.
They bleed,
blood of red, blood of black,
from the corners of their eyes.
The ground rumbles in rage beneath their feet.
The thunder threatens in rebellion far away, but so distinct.
The world holds its breath.
The creation feels its destruction.
In the locked swords of the warriors,
lightning dances.
They fight evenly,
drawing on the deepest of their reserves to find strength.
It's as much a contest of will as it is of strength.
Worlds will be remade in the image of the victor.
You and I,
by the arena,
hold our breaths.
To know.
Who will budge first?
Who will give an inch?
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