The memories of raven black obsidian
Well up at the sight of my new blade.
A midnight blade, with a red groove,
Running it’s own comet like streak
Down the center of the curvature.
The handle is made of an ebony wood,
A wood as dark, if not darker than
The blade it so reliably holds together.
A thin silver band wraps the division
Between the blade and handle,
And blocks the sheath from over-sheathing.
The sheath is also made of the same
Shadowy wood as the handle,
Giving off an aura of pure functionality.
This was a weapon made purely to ****
The air around the blade shadily undulates
Like heartbeats through crimson arteries,
Telling me it’s immense bloodlust.
Jan 1, 2020
Jan 1, 2020 at 1:36 AM UTC
The memories of raven black obsidian
Well up at the sight of my new blade.
A midnight blade, with a red groove,
Running it’s own comet like streak
Down the center of the curvature.
The handle is made of an ebony wood,
A wood as dark, if not darker than
The blade it so reliably holds together.
A thin silver band wraps the division
Between the blade and handle,
And blocks the sheath from over-sheathing.
The sheath is also made of the same
Shadowy wood as the handle,
Giving off an aura of pure functionality.
This was a weapon made purely to ****
The air around the blade shadily undulates
Like heartbeats through crimson arteries,
Telling me it’s immense bloodlust.
This is one really edgy poem... yikes I need to calm down on this ;-;... It’s 1:30 am and I’m not tired, so I guess I’ll start my year with listening to Slipnot and reading manga...
OH YEAH, forgot, raven black obsidian was the narrator’s old blade.
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