Tit For Tat (Vii) Poem by David James

An infamous fiend named Tat had lunged
at the bard from behind, one nick of his
knife spelt certain doom to life, for it was
magically twisted with evil inside
and glowed a sinister green. He wore
a long black coat with a wide brimmed hat
and a neckerchief covered his face;
eyes severe, sole perpetrator of fear.

The very light recoiled with fright
and only darkness seemed to follow;
which enveloped Tat unnaturally
in shrouded shadow.

The uncanny bard was wise in that of
the martial art as she spun on her heel
to parry the deathly lunge from Tat and his
magical knife; which did nought but thirst for life.

Nay could the old pirate captain forsake
opportunities gift of time, hence he
clamoured back from the fray to rally
forth his men. Those of whom were loyal to
their captain knew 'twould be the black spot if
they were to tarry...Sedition struck from
their hearts, the scallies leapt forth in a ruck-us
with many a drawn cutlass cursing as they did.

Tat seemed to move with inhuman speed,
of which the filcher did take heed; outnumbered
ten to score of one, lonesome bard could nay
bare odds unfair; unless thy filcher over-
come panic struck despair.

The filch'er somehow mustered the will
to encroach upon bloody stage using
guile to intervene upon the tragic scene.

The bard had revelled in sword plays dance;
only she could hear it's harmonious trance.
Stepping to the rhythm of battle,
slight were her delicate changes in tempo
from fast to slow she closed her eyes.

Putting trust in heart beats song,
crying out amidst the throng;

'To arms my brethren and by Tarrant's
mighty grace our will be done to die as one! '


Those few of whom were loyal to the bard
drew sabres in the dark, 'twas a troubadour
of minstrels whom pounced from shadows to
meet the scoundrels with an ambush so be-
devilling 'twas precise in attention
and timed to perfection.

Deathly howls most foul broke the beat of
bloody battles rhyme created from swords
clashing in time. The troubadours had the
upper hand with nought but hope for avail
the pirates would not prevail.

Tat shifted the balance in his favour
as the pirates began to waver, slaying
those of whom he opposed
with blood spewed fervour.

Pushing glances from lifeless eyes aside.
Bitter enmity for Tat grew inside
With momentous dance the Bard advanced
to lock blades with the fiend once more. 'Twas then
she felt a strange despair as Tats vigour
was beyond compare; Nought of note could calm
the rage that ran through hateful veins.

The plucky bard would have surely fallen
if not for that of a dagger in Tat's back.

'Destroy the map'

Tat had spat, as he slumped to the floor;
upon deaths door. Revealing the filch'er
as responsible, for the impossible.