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Poetry » Fantasy » A Deadly Blade font: B s : A A A . width: full 3/4 1/2
Author: counterpart
Fiction Rated: K+ - English - Tragedy - Reviews: 6 - Published: 05-04-03 - Updated: 05-04-03 - id:1295196

Day after day,

Night after night,

Some people are lucky,

They make it all right.

But somewhere faraway,

Moonlight eerily glows

Across a deadly blade,

Upon which blood will flow.

The wielder of this sword

Is none other than a boy,

Though it is a thing of great power,

He treats it as a toy.

Many a man had fallen

Under its piercing threat,

It was picked up by the boy,

Someone it shouldn't have met.

From that fateful hour on,

The boy tramped about the Earth.

Unassuming and carefree,

but the blade soon proved its worth.

As he walked about foreign peoples,

their treasures caught his eye.

I'll pretend to help them, he thought,

But for their gold they will die.

He crossed many a river,

And saw many a face,

He wanted more spoils,

So he picked up the pace.

Then one day he received a message,

Come home, his family bade,

No! I will not!

Me and my deadly blade.

Again and again

The sword came down.

The boy’s ex-adorers cried out,

In our own blood we will drown!

You once smote our enemies,

Made our nation clean and fair,

But now your wrath is unbearable,

To look at your face we don’t dare!

Indeed the boy had changed,

He was no more a child,

Betraying himself and his family,

He had grown ugly and wild.

But he ignored that fact,

And looked around at his hoard.

Look what I have gotten!

With my beautiful sword!

At last angry eyes reached him,

The people turned toward the glare

That shone from his blade,

At last... he would care.

Stony-faced and solemn,

Not afraid of Hell,

They would get revenge on the boy,

And steal his blade as well.

When they started to march,

The boy awoke with fright.

He saw the angry masses,

And seized the sword with all his might.

But the power of the blade rejected him.

Misused it had been.

Though it killed many,

The boy would not, could not win.

In his last dying breath,

As the mob had left

He saw the evil in his deed,

The evil in his theft.

So shiny was the blade at first,

But now dark it felt.

By picking up that powerful blade,

He had only slain himself.



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