Swords Speak

Swords speak brittle metal thrusts singing a song in the wind by touch and lost trust; blade upon blade clanging the swish of empty points deeply cut for glory and honor now disjoint. The sword speaks forged in metallic shields shaped and tapered to steeled pricking yields; sword smith tamahagane billets delivery quenched in fire and tempered chivalry. Swords speak sharp yet to the death the very depths and blood letting breaths for love, for country, brothers of courage, fear and fires fighting for Gods and goddesses, rulers and empires. It is the brothers, fathers and sons slipping out of place bound to stand bold and listen to the forgotten embrace of time when men were free to let the swords speak bold no longer so but may yet be as they grow gray and old. Free people are all brothers at the very start then in some discorded word find swords will resolve the hatred spark. Deep the wounds cut and slicing but words are no longer vocalized politely only the sharpness and the glint of the sword that hears and feels its bloodstained tint. "The tongue devises mischiefs like a sharp razor, working deceitfully." Psalm 52:2