Saturday, 17 March 2012

A Broken Sword

A dilemma.
Shining blackness. To the heart.
Made the world. Red-colored.
In my hands it lie, silent.
Like a bouquet.
Slanting to the heart.
Resembling a whole.
But broken -- in a way.

Carried down a path.
No critique. No dissent.
Just reflecting a dim-lit light.
Seemingly harmless.
Dreadfully deceiving.

Blunt on a side, perhaps.
Lost its grip.
Its anachronous;
Ephemerally eternal.
Possession of a swordsmen.
Articulate and silvern.
But broken fires it lay.

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