Each battle their swords clash
mighty men stagger back,
with every hack and slash
little cracks break into those blades.
Each force of energy carves a new path--
victories told by this warriors tale of sand
beads of red spill openly,
and more brown rocks turned into blood
they are the clear sign
to a samurai's way to end.
A jar on the counter filled to the brim--
layers of dust coat the outside
within the hearts of mighty men
whom were slain all by one man;
now he old and gray living in a younger age.
His only wish was to be a true
samurai, one to turn into sand,
to become part of the trophy case--
sword in hand and a slight bow
he does the honorable way,
to join his samurai men.
May 9, 2015
May 9, 2015 at 6:29 AM UTC
Each battle their swords clash
mighty men stagger back,
with every hack and slash
little cracks break into those blades.
Each force of energy carves a new path--
victories told by this warriors tale of sand
beads of red spill openly,
and more brown rocks turned into blood
they are the clear sign
to a samurai's way to end.
A jar on the counter filled to the brim--
layers of dust coat the outside
within the hearts of mighty men
whom were slain all by one man;
now he old and gray living in a younger age.
His only wish was to be a true
samurai, one to turn into sand,
to become part of the trophy case--
sword in hand and a slight bow
he does the honorable way,
to join his samurai men.
Request permission to use this poem