Music by Suno, expressing my poem.
I.
Han smacks his thighs, ready for a fight.
Jun shakes his head, squatting, legs widespread.
Soldiers bet on their kings around the fire site.
The old way, kings fight for their men instead.
Brothers in arms grab on belts and sweat.
Shoulders on shoulders, head on head.
“You’re getting fat,” Jun puffs out a breath.
“And your knees are gone,” Han dives aneath.
Dust swirls, embers crackle, soldiers applaud.
A score is settled—but that is not all.
Thousands of lives are staked in a mere brawl
Between kings, once shared the same fleece blanket
Children they were, parents slain by bandits
Adult they are, bound by power’s ambit
II.
Han, heir to the iron lion clan.
Wrought iron, they brought on horses.
Arrows shrouded the high sky.
Wolves roamed the plains.
His people screamed.
His father,
mother,
Died.
Jun.
Fishing.
Hands heaving,
The earth’s thrumming.
Shadows invading.
A fisher boy could stare;
the morning of his nightmare.
Horror beyond his mind could bear,
Jun couldn’t escape his fate, ensnared.
III.
The blanket shared, two boys beneath the wolf clan’s might.
The stars above, the shroud below, they hung on tight.
Shoulders on shoulder, head on head, they cried.
The fleece heard, the fleece remembered.
The blanket thin, the blanket worn,
the night they learned what death was born.
The stars watched cold, the shroud drank red;
the fleece remembered the words unsaid.
Han caught a fever, Jun stole a goatmilk jar.
The wolf clan knew. Brother’s palm earned a new scar—
four fingers left. A new debt.
The blanket torn, the fleece remembered what they’ve done.
Two riders, sharing the same harness
A new village. They followed the wolves’ raid
Jun couldn’t take it, the blanket fled;
Han stayed, and buried a wolf instead.
The stars grew dim, the shroud grew wide,
The fleece remembered the boy who died.
IV.
Han smacks his thighs, ready for round three.
The one who loses shall be forever free.
The wrestling hands, oh, the broken men.
The stars hold their breath, witnessing their stand.
As fate has written.
Han wins, but there is no smile—
for Jun has to die.
V.
The blanket burns on the funeral pyre.
Highking Han of the wolf clan’s might,
climbs into the fire.
The stars went blind, the shroud grew bright,
He grabs the fleece that remembers the endless night.
Embers spray, embers swirl,
Turning to ash of a brother who was.
The wool whispers in the night air;
Han holding the last lock of hair.
The stars are dust. The shroud is the cost.
The fleece blanket remembers what is lost.
My other dark poems:
If you are here, you are seeing my plain draft of this narrative poem. How it turn out so different? Idk, I guess choosing the best images to tell the story is always better than the entire back story lol.
A chieftain attended the funeral of his brother in law, who’s also his competitor for the King position.
When the morgue talks about the other chief’s treachery
The new king held a finger, and said his own speech
He tell a story of their youth
Two boys, hostaged to the wolf clan
The clan killed their fathers, raided the town, enslaving people
For political purpose, they don’t kill children, because it will enrage the other clans - hostage is the way to keep the clan to pay homage to the wold clan
Two boys, one fleece blanket.
When Han (the king) is sick, Jun stole goat milk
Jun lost a finger, Han’s back to health
Han raid a village with wolf clan,
In the chaos, Han find a way for Jun to escape
Han gives the blanket to Jun, telling Jun to bring the braid (with a ribbon) to his mother and sister.
Jun marries Han’s sister, and becomes a famous warlord as well.
Han became a famous raider, renowned for his skill and leadership, and also married the Wolf clan chieftain’s daughter.
Ideology clashes. Han believes in military power and expansion + unification of the clans
Jun believes in peace and the old ways, where clans have their own code.
The battle under the starry nights, where two clan chieftains go for a wrestling match.
A draw, and they share goat milk ale, and sleep under the same fleece blanket again.
At dawn, the battle begins.
Han wins, and time goes back to the funeral.
A new decree under Han’s rule. Unification but the clans must respect each other’s code. He will conscript half the men, and whoever follows him, and will pardon all the people who’ve been opposing him.
That made him weak. But he grabbed the burning fleece blanket from the funeral pyre.
Then he wore it on his back, crackling embers.
His general saw the spectacles, kneel, and swear allegiance forever.
It always amazes me how many different genres you write at such a high level. Great poem, mate!
Two boys.
One blanket.
A debt that outlived
both of them
as kings.
He grabbed the burning fleece
not to keep it —
but to prove
that some things
are carried
even when they cost you
everything.
— AËLA