Swords Speak
Swords speak brittle metal thrusts
singing a song in the wind by touch and lost trust;
blade upon blade clanging the swish of empty points
deeply cut for glory and honor now disjoint.
The sword speaks forged in metallic shields
shaped and tapered to steeled pricking yields;
sword smith tamahagane billets delivery
quenched in fire and tempered chivalry.
Swords speak sharp yet to the death
the very depths and blood letting breaths
for love, for country, brothers of courage, fear and fires
fighting for Gods and goddesses, rulers and empires.
It is the brothers, fathers and sons slipping out of place
bound to stand bold and listen to the forgotten embrace
of time when men were free to let the swords speak bold
no longer so but may yet be as they grow gray and old.
Free people are all brothers
at the very start
then in some discorded word
find swords will resolve the hatred spark.
Deep the wounds cut and slicing
but words are no longer vocalized politely
only the sharpness and the glint
of the sword that hears and feels its bloodstained tint.
"The tongue devises mischiefs
like a sharp razor, working deceitfully." Psalm 52:2
Copyright © DM Babbit | Year Posted 2017
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