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.
I just thought of warriors and the fate they want to live and how in some way it is peaceful to go out the way they desired.ย ย Well I am really tired so this is more than likely not that great.