Sword (The Anger of Truth)

The sword, buried deep in its' scabbard, tempered by fire, strength it holds, I desire Metal fashioned by human hands, skill from distant lands. Beauty of proportion and line, weapon so fine For the sword in its' scabbard, is like the truth hidden, brought out in anger, to do its' bidding Flash of steel I turn and wheel arcing round, truth be found For to be sheathed, nobody can hurt, no anger unleashed, no falldown, in dirt But truth must come out willingly, now and then, rasp of steel,but when? The sword always finds home, piecing deep, this sharp steel i hone makes truth weep blood and bone The truth used as a weapon of war, pulled out of its' hiding place. These are the things I saw. It takes no prisoners,only deaths' face, running down the blade This truth of metal, is in fine fettle, for the sword out of its' hiding place, with death you must face swish of air, into battle you must wade, heart beginning to tear, carry the truth blade Flash of steel,Iturn and wheel, arcing round, truth be found For the truth can be used in rage, to wound and maim. No wisdom of sage, to guide whence it came Flame bright steel,you must deal with the things you feel, for arcing round truth can be found