Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Adrian Jan 2020
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.
Lyn-Purcell Nov 2017
Imagine seeing a silvery blade dancing to the music of death.
Marred by the poetry of blood
A trumpet to the cries of war
But it also reflects the wielder.
When looking at it, you can see yourself.
But in my eyes, I can see the steel's heart.
As it's in your hand, preparing to protect, it's polished until it shines like luna wildfire.
In the end, I believe the true beauty of a katana comes not from the hilt or engravings, but from the steel.
How many songs has it sang in our battles, can you imagine...?
A katana's beauty comes from the polished steel as it's shines so brightly
with victorious prayers.
This poem is dedicated to several katana that I saw in a museum near me.
(I'm a nerd for these things and I'm not shamed)
Viseract Jul 2016
He twirls and whirls with supernatural speed
His usual blue eyes, with smoky black gleam
In the midst of a battle, sword in hand
Master to master, friend to friend

A metal, black, that no-one knows
Owned by one associated with crows
His messenger, his ally, his beast of burden
Caws and calls his silent song of death

A mercenary, bounty hunter, with just cause
To right the wrong and return what lies lost
To defend, apprehend, to defeat the Kursed
A story riddled into my verse
As you could probably guess, I'm writing a story called Ace of Silence. The main character is Silence, the Blank Card. His calling card? A blank card. Weapons? A katana made from metal nobody recognises, two silent guns with similar make, set in a city called Kortal where gangs, drugs and various illegal activities are rampant. He is a good Bounty Hunter. Because if you're good at something, you never do it for free...
Lost Mar 2016
There is a feeling I love.
A feeling I can't deny is my favorite.
Some may call it dangerous,
some,
may call it childish.
By I,
can't help
how much
I love it.
If you've never had a katana or held one, you don't know the feeling of true power.

— The End —