I carry a sharpened blade with me,
Wherever my tired feet may wander.
A knife of everlasting sterling silver,
Brandished by old hands so very scarred.
On the edge are darkened crimson stains
Dripping down on leather betwixt fingers.
The past memories flow like molten iron,
A testament to the marathon of my own life.
Many times before, I have put down arms,
And sacrificed the scalpel for dissection.
Uncareful hands left my own bloodied,
With no bayonet to protect the peace.
And as much as the slashes stung skin,
I'd lower my weapon again a thousand times.
To love is to invite war bravely inside,
And to be loved, is to lick blood off knives.
Feb 24
Feb 24, 2026 at 4:21 PM UTC
I carry a sharpened blade with me,
Wherever my tired feet may wander.
A knife of everlasting sterling silver,
Brandished by old hands so very scarred.
On the edge are darkened crimson stains
Dripping down on leather betwixt fingers.
The past memories flow like molten iron,
A testament to the marathon of my own life.
Many times before, I have put down arms,
And sacrificed the scalpel for dissection.
Uncareful hands left my own bloodied,
With no bayonet to protect the peace.
And as much as the slashes stung skin,
I'd lower my weapon again a thousand times.
To love is to invite war bravely inside,
And to be loved, is to lick blood off knives.
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