Samurai Warrior's Master
Sound of a sad flute creeps around the temple,
as the Katana sword slides away from its scabbard;
it is slid with so much care;
as though it is a five centuries-old Buddha’s
statue.
Its blade glitters in the ghostly Autumn full moon,
fooling anyone to believe it hasn't slit
any throat, belly, or chest.
The Katana and the Samurai warrior are One;
he has a calling to obey its whispers in his intuition,
to slit whoever it chooses….
Poetry Form: Free Verse
Date: 4/20/2016
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