Eyes wondering, pondering, over desolate land,
much glory and story on this blade in my hand.
Though this day and old way before rising of sun,
felt so strange, de-arranged, before war had begun.
For my hand, as like sand, so limp and so free,
had a mind, pure and kind, I had failed to see.
It would not weild, or hold shield, to battle my foe,
so through pain and great strain I had to let go.
Then High in the sky through a dark cloudy sky,
came a light pure and bright in a jet to my eye.
I knew clear and true that this wasnt the way,
and my blade was to fade of these stains on that day.
And though the fight, in our right, was still fought and won,
my sword it lay, forever to stay, before the days setting sun.
Add your comment
You need to login or signup to add your comment to this work.