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Personal Note:
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Poem
What is this period, which illustrates the weak motions 
of dull blades, and misguided swings?

I am an unfortunate imitator, as the fearless edge I once 
owned, has faded prominently among the flock as well. 
It is not the passion which is forever stuck in the quiet
ignorance of sheath, but rather, the unmarked areas of 
unrest that requires a warrior’s decisive cut. 
But we are now scholars of sedentary efforts, 
and our slashes no longer spread deep caution among
our adversaries. 

However, we have not defeated ourselves without the 
cause of Judas. 
We have been disarmed for ages, courtesy of those who
marvel in our jagged failures. The audacity of this 
artificial textbook entitled humanity; to neutralize the 
arsenal of kings: past, present, and future. 
But still , how could one explain the brick and mortar that
is possessed in thy sword?
What is this technique from our natural birth that been 
suppressed until further notice?

Answer: To exist within the greatest offense, and act, 
before the call of reaction, our current foe. 
To stab forethought into brief memory, and thrust 
forward. 
Baring all punishment for blood falsely exposed. 
If no site of fault becomes of this moment, then our
finest cut will never perish. 

As the blade plays aggressive with the follow through, 
one may notice the innocent silhouettes that are favored
behind it’s whisper. 
These are the gentle foundations that cause us to guard 
without asking. As worshippers of security, we slice away 
those inches of influence, that could bring illogical charm 
into reason. 
Thus, our steel diminishes when imbalances come into 
fruition. There is no better worry than our silent stance. 
There was a time when our subjective follow through 
never wavered, and our swords denied the flirtatious 
flinch. 
Opinions along the straight edges of debate, were once
a warrior’s first and last identity. 

Such times are now recorded as a fairy tale of 
masculinity. 
Those wounds that once had no apprehension or fear, 
now hesitate to slash the fallacies of others. 
We are now the soft beggars of war, without our 
extended bass to culminate polarity yet again. 

As this battle extends itself to another sphere, 
I pray that prayer becomes obsolete in the realm of 
necessities’, and that these statues of war rediscover 
their purposeful precision, 
Referencing themselves back to their original title: Men.
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