A Poem (by me)

The call strikes and the shadows descend,
Morose, like statues they stand,
Through their faint whispers no message they send
A sea of grey tombstones upon the dead land.
The call strikes again yet no one pays heed,
No ringer required for this bell,
All come to witness the hideous deed
And see one more friend sent to hell.
One step on the grass and the earth beneath shakes
A glint from the hand blinds the eyes
Yet not from the shadows a quiver or quake
The moment before someone dies.
A footstep replies from across the straight way,
The ominous call repeats once again,
Time has come finally for one man to pay,
Two shadows face off on the plain.
How long is the wait before it begins?
The terror is strung on the air,
The final result of man's mortal sins,
All passions and hatred laid bare
Four shoulders heave as they're turned back to back
The shimmer of sweat on the brow,
Eyes bright and fierce but compassion they lack,
Sworn to murder with one solemn vow.
Each step that they take seems as long as a year
Time herself has stopped dead in her tracks,
But from the shadows no sorrow nor tear
Swiftly two shadows turn to attack.
A clear shot rings out upon the thin air
Each shadow piously lowers his head
An offers to God one silent prayer,
For the soul of the one who lays dead.
The shadows move not, but fixed in one place,
This ghastly performance now done
No grief do they feel, nor joy at the face
Of death who feels pity for none.
Feelings devoid, the shadows depart,
Leaving one victor to stand,
Nevermore beating one cold senseless heart,
The final curtain, the duel to demand.