They say the blade that waits
Hurts the most,
Be wary of my anguish because
oh lord am I patient.
As a rock sitting, and listening
with all its adoration
for things that grow
and prosper
as opposed to slowly degrading away,
awaiting the day
when it can seek its true revenge
on those who let it
Become a husk, a flimsy consciousness
left to fade away into an abysmal oblivion
the plane where its very existence is questioned
A place where no light can shine through
and no sound can be heard
Alone with its thoughts.
Permitted to become
That ancient blade in the crowd.