If a sword is hidden in me,
It would be yours to wield and shield.
Yours to keep and stay,
The sword of a thousand swords,
Cauterized into my bone.
When rot can crumble,
I am the strength of your unfaltering faith.
Can it be true that if one becomes a sword for others,
He will perish with that very sword.
In becoming one and none with it.
Can it be true there is only agony in anguish,
When one gives himself up to be a sword for others,
To only live in the essence of servitude.
Sword is the seam holding a man,
A wonder in almost bursting esteem,
Battling while gilding the glimmer of gold.
Could you be punished awake and asleep,
The soldiering sword serving defence and offence,
In a cyclic barrel of enmity.
The impressive disease of hero.
I will be your sword, yours alone to take.
Even when you do not carry, not tired from the weary.
-Vander
Disclaimer: All poetry and fiction here are original material written by Vander. Please note that all text references, descriptions and indications are purely fictional (make-believe if you didn’t know what fiction is!) and is in no relation to any actual entities.