The Sword of Mercy

Charlemagne saw a brilliant light. He thought at first it was firelight reflecting from Ogier's blade, but in the next instant, the light, dancing in the swirling smoke, seemed to form itself into... could it be? An angel.
...Charlemagne smiled back at the angel; if this was death, he welcomed it. Ogier, disconcerted by the man's smile, paused. Then, with a grunt, he swung Curtana down toward the head of his former king. As he did, Charlemagne reached toward the angel, using his right hand in which he still held Joyeuse [Charlemagne's sword].
The two blades met... Joyeuse tumbled to the stone floor... Ogier's next blow would be fatal. Holding Curtana in both hands, the Dane raised it for a stabbing, downward thrust. And then he stopped, staring at its blade. Curtana had lost its tip...

I took this passage from Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson's "Peter and the Sword of Mercy". I thought this was a cool opening for a book, when I first read this. Then, I wondered if there was any truth to this story of a "sword of mercy". When I looked it up (thank you Wikipedia), I found that Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson had actually based their book on a very real historical artifact. The legend of how the sword received its name is fake, probably. However, there is a blade by that name which is kept as a part of the Crown Jewels of the United Kingdom and "is carried in the coronation procession", as their story states. This fact gave me even more interest in the book, and even though their legend is fake, it is still awesome.

PS: Highlighted are three unique ways of ending a sentence.

More Poems

Grey as a mouse,
Big as a house,
Nose like a snake,
I make the earth shake,
As I tramp through the grass;
Trees crack as I pass.
With horns in my mouth
I walk in the South,
Flapping big ears.
Beyond count of years
I stump round and round,
Never lie on the ground,
Not even to die.
Oliphaunt am I,
Biggest of all,
Huge, old, and tall.
If ever you'd met me
You wouldn't forget me.
If you never do,
You won't think I'm true;
But old Oliphaunt am I,
And I never lie.


I wrote a poem in inspiration of J. R. Tolkien's, taking his meter and idea of describing an animal.

Like a wild horse,
On a new course,
Guided by sense,
Unguarded by fence,
She leaps over lines,
Disregarding signs
That say to turn back --
Rushing into black,
Hurdling o'er doubt.
An obscure route
That is left to rot,
For others seem caught
In an easy life,
Almost free from strife.
She knows what's true
And sticks like glue
To the One who saved,
Died, and was raised.
She never will stop
'Til she reaches the top.
But not alone does she ride,
For I too am by her side.

Poems

The Destruction of Sennacherib
by Lord Byron

The Assyrians came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen:
Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.

I really really like this poem (and this is not even all of it). First of all, it just sounds cool. Secondly, the story is incredible. I mean, a whole army is supernaturally crushed in one night. Also, the techniques and comparisons Byron uses are fascinating. In the first line, Assyrian horde is compared to a pack of savage wolves coming to attack the Israeli people, who we assume are like sheep. That would be an insult to them, except that the Bible consistently matches God to a shepherd -- the protector of the sheep. So, it makes perfect sense when the wolves - even though they number the stars -- are defeated. It continues, saying the "host" numbers the green leaves in a forest; in other words, countless. This massive army suddenly disappears, like leaves in the wind. Just gone. Whoosh! It's like God sneezed or something. Nothing is too big for God. I love it.