THE SOUL OF A BLADE

Here is one of the poem I have published yesterday:

“From the ore of the earth was I born.

The fires of the forge shaped me.

I was crafted by the hands of an artist.

I began as a weapon of war and death.

Now, I was presented as art for others to admire.

 

My master looked at me with deep attachment.

For I was a symbol of his rich heritage.

His ancestors used me to unite kingdoms and defy empires.

Perhaps my master sees me as a window into the past.

 

I existed in many forms across many centuries.

For every nation gave me a variety of names.

An obsidian blade glistened like a mirror in the light.

Ruby eyes adorned my gilded crossguard.

A beast’s polished ivory shaped my hilt.

My golden pommel had a single crimson star.

 

Now, I rested in my master’s garage.

Free am I from the horrors of war.

The atmosphere was peaceful and time was my friend.

Years eroded my shell as my soul was slowly liberated.

That was the life of the blade forged by man.

From the ore of the earth was I born.”

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s