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"Twenty years before current time, the Spear Sect, known for only taking one student had its Sect Head accused of practicing Demonic Martial Arts by the leaders of the Murim Orthodox Union and was given the judgment of death."

I.

"A team of horses will struggle to chase down a spoken word. From the Analects of Confucius"

And when they died, their life ebbed away.
The maws of dogma forcing their daggers
To blot out the truth with the blood of the lost.
The orthodox sect's swords painting an old wall
With thin veneer of paint, haphazardly done.

In an unmarked grave lies the spear sect.
Where two died, another lived on.

II.

"An old warhorse in the stable still longs to gallop a thousand li. From the Analects of Confucius."

And they pierced his ribs,
his flesh threshed by deceit and
The facade of the pharisees
forcing him down. In the dark caves
he was placed with the heavy stone.

The shroud is a white sheet
Covering his scarred body.

His life lived on with the sinful:
the tax collectors and the courtesans;
the uncouth and uneducated,
the murderers and drunkards,
the gentiles of the other sects.

Though he lived not as others did.

From one spear he died,
with another he lived,
Leading them with the sacred fire.
Fishing for followers
among the many hungry.

December 2021
This was a challenge in the Luminous Scans Discorc server, that is to write a poem with the themes of christmas and one of the scan group's korean manhwas. The first one was inspired by the Chronicles of the Heavenly Demon.
Nitika Sharma Dec 2021
My fear is not death
But living like dead

My fear is not failure
But loosing hope
Without sensing the dread

My fear is not solitude
But the Period of its
existence

My fear is not perplexity
But the regret resistance

My fear is not emotions
But  inability to control it

My fear is not pain
But the burning love
The remaining ashes that moulds it
Tiana Nov 2021
Just know,
You'll  be lured, attacked and get trampled,
By the ones for whom you sold,
Everything to keep them closer,
But before you know this wish will be over,
And they'll move from your ruins to search for another;

It'd have been still alright,
if that shattered wish was the realization of you being used,

But born under the fool's star,
you feel guilty for having them lose;

So you pick up your scattered pieces
and run after them;

Then there's your family,
your daughter and wife,
Whose warnings you don't listen
nor see their burning compromise;

But you still have the nerve to
ask them to adorn the enemy's feet
with the rubies of their broken temple;

                                      …(to be continued)
Based on a story I see Everyday
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