The Sword
Quickly the arm comes down,
The deafening ring as steal meets steal.
The hammer falls, making contact with the red molten metal.
Cynders fly,
Smoke rises,
And heat wells up
As the fire licks at the man’s skin.
Droplets of sweat fall like rain in the early morning.
The man works diligently at his task.
Slowly the square of steal takes shape.
Widening, Lengthening, and stretching out.
It began as nothing, yet now it reaches ever further.
Pin straight it seems it shall never stop.
Yet slowly the journey finds its end.
No longer cold, dull, and grey.
It shines with brilliance that is completely unmatched.
It reflects every gleam of light.
Now a new journey begins.
For it knows its life has only just begun.
No body no breath.
Yet it has a heart and soul
Not even the gods can match.
It has no wings,
Yet it flies through the air,
Like a majestic bird.
A bird of prey,
Ever searching for its next meal,
It’s next taste of flesh.
Finally it finds it, its next meal.
It is a meal of man, Such a delicate little morsel.
It comes ever closer, sneaking up upon its prey.
The prey is closer, so close he can sense it.
The Preys emotions are great,
Anger, rage, hatred and most of all fear.
Slowly it creeps up and takes aim.
It is time, time to feed.
Quickly it makes it move.
Slicing through the air,
And plunging into the heart of the victim.
It feeds.
Savoring every succulent drop of the man’s blood.
When done it withdraws.
The man stares in utter horror.
This object with no body to move,
No lips to speak. Now tells all.
The man listens as the life slips from his body,
And hears the great truth as it unfolds.
The object which started as nothing ,
Tells what it has become.
It speaks only to its prey.
“I am the hunger”
“I am the hunter”
“I am the steal”
“I am the sword,
And above all else I am Death”
This is the last thing the man hears,
Except for what he believes to be laughter.
Death takes many shapes and it is always hunting.
Looking for the next meal,
To feed its ever growing hunger.
