Is there no more a truer fate,
than a death unknown by the strike of the sword?
Surely a hoard is reduced by the hoards, upon light’s
glowing steel and slash-
forbidden to be grasped by tempting fate, is the sword true;
all but dying by a glow like the moon-
And what swinging pendulum that exists,
denies itself of an arm’s leverage…?
Even though the warrior’s aim is true,
his score is but a death sentence-
for war follows a man, until he learns, that-
even the future, wages with wars from great and past…
Copyright April 27, 2017