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.”