Blood Sword
A pen who never bleeds blue nor black
As the changing shades of a clear night sky;
Bleeds blood, ever deep red
As a sword who fought million battles.
He never reveals his tale
But it is to be remembered
And will be remembered.
He sets aright others' lives
Make corrections, make amends.
Unlike his kin, with a white skin
The correction pen, bleeding white;
He never hesitates to unveil blunders,
Others made;
Only pronounce them, guiding them
To learn from their faulty footings.
The White King asserts:
" I, who, hide his flaws
Flaws of juvenile origins;
Grateful, he is, to me.
In his life's canvas,
With no scars to be blamed for,
He starts anew.
Turning the hourglass,
To let his scars go into oblivion,
Never to be seen again-
To him nor the others
With a history anew,
He starts afresh."
The blood sword, now spoke
He voiced his voice, as he said:
"Let your wrong footings stay,
Learn from them; grow."
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