Spartans' Poem
Took me 2 months, and now it's being posted in a magazine by my editor friend! I'm just glad I'm done. If you haven't played Halo (yeah right) or read the books, it's still an okay poem. If you've played Halo, good for you and you'll get most of the poem. If you've played Halo and read the books (and remember), you're all set.
++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spartans' Poem
By Lora Zabiran

Little boys and girls, they used to be.
King of the hill, hopscotch, climbing the trees.

Oly oly oxen free…

But the war was near, and the children fit the bill.
Doc took them away, so they would live to kill.

Just kids, gaps in their teeth and freckles on face.
No more kid stuff, that’s it. No play, no tag or chase.

Whisked away in the night, replaced with flash clones.
You’re going to be Spartans. Warriors, fighters, but not drones.

No not drones, not taken for granted and never will be.
You will end up being saviors, for us and for them. The entire galaxy.

Oly oly oxen free…

Not all of you will survive, granted. If lucky maybe some.
They all had their knack, but from the start John was the lucky one.

Their first game, (No, training exercise,) Looked fun.
In their each squads of three, John jumped the gun.

Sam and Kelly were both annoyed, John thought he did good
But the Sarge said “This is about teamwork. Tonight, your group gets no food.”

Next day’s exercise they all worked together, Kelly’s speed was the key.
After that the kids became close fast friends, the fusing of three.

Oly oly oxen free…

A few years later, the kids were plunged into surgery, their augmentation.
Half of them died, but for the survivors, it was their Spartan graduation.

Bones almost unbreakable, boosted growth, muscles increased, impossible eyes,
Three hundred times reflexes. More creative, smarter. Foes were in for a surprise.

Each one put in their sage skin, all now a deadly beauty.
First mission out, Sam was the first to go, but he did his duty.

Oly oly oxen free…

Samuel was the strong one. Kelly impossibly fast. (Her nickname was rabbit.)
Linda was the sniper, our own lone wolf. She was a loner. (That was her habit.)

Kurt was the strange one. He was a social guy, but he always knew when it was bad
An uncanny feeling, he’d know when something was wrong, and that made John mad.

In the old days, John always lost when against Kurt’s team. But not anymore...
Kurt went the most heroic way, Had the final words, saved the others, closed the door.

Always having orders, action packed futures they would be.
Shooting, killing, blowing, leading, crashing hogs’ and Banshees.

Oly oly oxen free…

It wasn’t that bad, all of that stuff, The Marines sure did love that
Plenty of gusto, jokers, language, and always good with the gat.

From the people and the Corps, rapidly rose esteem and respect.
The belief we couldn’t be defeated, they thought we were perfect.

If it were only so…some of us proved that fact wrong. Gods we would seem.
The public couldn’t know Spartans could fall. So pretend, we did, to be supreme.

A K.I.A is a killed in action. But no not that would you be.
Spartans can’t die my friend. So an M.I.A is in order for thee.

Oly oly oxen free…

How many are left now? A few or just me? God it’s a bloody shame.
For now I’m unable to help. So now I play the waiting game.

For most of us, our deaths came to us knowingly. A proper demise.
Respectable and right we went our way. But it’d be nice to have goodbyes.

But this is no lament; we (or I?) are still alive. We can still carry on.
Let once again it be proved that a Spartan you can always count upon.

You all think I’m dead. But you’ve all thought wrong. I’m John 1-1-7.
The lucky one, with my violet guardian angel, floating through heaven.

Oly oly oxen free…

The battlefield is his home. Feet on the ground, not floating in space.
Or is it where his Spartan friends are, taken by deaths sweet embrace?

But for now… he sleeps, with his angel beside, his era not yet done.
Waiting, floating, lurking, for somebody. He’ll be ready, hand on his gun.

They saved us many times. Countless times. But out of all, he swept the board.
And he’ll wait forever to do it again, to fight against another hoard.

Don’t mourn John’s future. Just like Kurt did, I shall advise;
“Die? Didn’t you know? Spartans never die.”

Oly oly oxen free... all out in the free… we’re all free.

Spartans' Poem
Took me 2 months, and now it's being posted in a magazine by my editor friend! I'm just glad I'm done. If you haven't played Halo (yeah right) or read the books, it's still an okay poem. If you've played Halo, good for you and you'll get most of the poem. If you've played Halo and read the books (and remember), you're all set.
++++++++++++++++++++++++

Spartans' Poem
By Lora Zabiran

Little boys and girls, they used to be.
King of the hill, hopscotch, climbing the trees.

Oly oly oxen free…

But the war was near, and the children fit the bill.
Doc took them away, so they would live to kill.

Just kids, gaps in their teeth and freckles on face.
No more kid stuff, that’s it. No play, no tag or chase.

Whisked away in the night, replaced with flash clones.
You’re going to be Spartans. Warriors, fighters, but not drones.

No not drones, not taken for granted and never will be.
You will end up being saviors, for us and for them. The entire galaxy.

Oly oly oxen free…

Not all of you will survive, granted. If lucky maybe some.
They all had their knack, but from the start John was the lucky one.

Their first game, (No, training exercise,) Looked fun.
In their each squads of three, John jumped the gun.

Sam and Kelly were both annoyed, John thought he did good
But the Sarge said “This is about teamwork. Tonight, your group gets no food.”

Next day’s exercise they all worked together, Kelly’s speed was the key.
After that the kids became close fast friends, the fusing of three.

Oly oly oxen free…

A few years later, the kids were plunged into surgery, their augmentation.
Half of them died, but for the survivors, it was their Spartan graduation.

Bones almost unbreakable, boosted growth, muscles increased, impossible eyes,
Three hundred times reflexes. More creative, smarter. Foes were in for a surprise.

Each one put in their sage skin, all now a deadly beauty.
First mission out, Sam was the first to go, but he did his duty.

Oly oly oxen free…

Samuel was the strong one. Kelly impossibly fast. (Her nickname was rabbit.)
Linda was the sniper, our own lone wolf. She was a loner. (That was her habit.)

Kurt was the strange one. He was a social guy, but he always knew when it was bad
An uncanny feeling, he’d know when something was wrong, and that made John mad.

In the old days, John always lost when against Kurt’s team. But not anymore...
Kurt went the most heroic way, Had the final words, saved the others, closed the door.

Always having orders, action packed futures they would be.
Shooting, killing, blowing, leading, crashing hogs’ and Banshees.

Oly oly oxen free…

It wasn’t that bad, all of that stuff, The Marines sure did love that
Plenty of gusto, jokers, language, and always good with the gat.

From the people and the Corps, rapidly rose esteem and respect.
The belief we couldn’t be defeated, they thought we were perfect.

If it were only so…some of us proved that fact wrong. Gods we would seem.
The public couldn’t know Spartans could fall. So pretend, we did, to be supreme.

A K.I.A is a killed in action. But no not that would you be.
Spartans can’t die my friend. So an M.I.A is in order for thee.

Oly oly oxen free…

How many are left now? A few or just me? God it’s a bloody shame.
For now I’m unable to help. So now I play the waiting game.

For most of us, our deaths came to us knowingly. A proper demise.
Respectable and right we went our way. But it’d be nice to have goodbyes.

But this is no lament; we (or I?) are still alive. We can still carry on.
Let once again it be proved that a Spartan you can always count upon.

You all think I’m dead. But you’ve all thought wrong. I’m John 1-1-7.
The lucky one, with my violet guardian angel, floating through heaven.

Oly oly oxen free…

The battlefield is his home. Feet on the ground, not floating in space.
Or is it where his Spartan friends are, taken by deaths sweet embrace?

But for now… he sleeps, with his angel beside, his era not yet done.
Waiting, floating, lurking, for somebody. He’ll be ready, hand on his gun.

They saved us many times. Countless times. But out of all, he swept the board.
And he’ll wait forever to do it again, to fight against another hoard.

Don’t mourn John’s future. Just like Kurt did, I shall advise;
“Die? Didn’t you know? Spartans never die.”

Oly oly oxen free... all out in the free… we’re all free.