Idle sit the swords in bloodied rust
old glories faded in the long dull blades
lie about cold beauty's savage lives
masked within the scars of victors songs.
Words unbent repent in ploughshare shame
succumb to acquiescent mumbling
rising in the throat of strangled steel
tempered by the stench of battles fear.
Is peace naught but a swords rekindling flame
sharpening both sides of fates cold wand.
If you live by he sword then you die by the sword Poetry Contest
Copyright © John lawless | Year Posted 2019
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