Bo Vigoren Poet Ballad

Forlorn and War Torn

He trained every day,
And took not for granted, 
The way his lethal blade
Sliced and Slanted.
Protecting himself 
was all that he knew,
Aside from the blood 
that his sword drew.
He'd go from sunrise 
'till the moon hit his eyes,
But felt no remorse, 
for everyone dies.
His honor was gold 
and his focus was old,
Like a man who's life 
needed to be told.
He fought for himself, 
and his family tree,
He never thought once 
about mortality.
But the pain in his eyes, 
one night did arise,
When he saw his villages 
flaming demise.
He opened his hut, 
then slammed it back shut,
When he saw his loved ones 
strewn out guts.
He vowed for revenge 
in the pale moonlight,
He swore for his ancestors, 
he would do right.
He raised his blade, 
and removed his own face,
Then clotted the blood 
with the embers ablaze.
He rose from the ashes,
With hate in his eyes,
The blood of his loved,
His means to baptize.
He set out on horseback,
For hours he'd ride,
Pushing out flashbacks
For pain to subside.
He finally reached 
The camp of his foes,
He waited outside,
With both his eyes closed.
He Bowed his head,
Following his plan,
He aimed at his stomach,
With sword in hand.
The first guard to see
Walked right up to him,
Hesitantly,
But the night was so dim,
He saw just a flash
As the silver passed,
Slicing the guard
Cleanly in half.
The samurai rose,
Like a phoenix from flame,
To bring honor back 
to his family name.
He snuck through the tents
Of the encampment,
Slaying who slept,
Smiling as he went.
When he got to the end,
Saving best for last,
He skinned their captain 
And fashioned a mask. 
He looked at it long,
Before he stitched it on,
And by break of dawn
His mind was long gone.

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