The Tears and the Sword

They roll down leaving a salty trail

between sand colored hills

to spill off the edge of the ravine.

Above, the sword watches

from its white throne room

blind to anything but logic.

The salted path is carved and re-carved

from its red orb origins

where the battle continues to rage.

Its agile point thrust upward

as if its nose turned in disgust

to the supposed misery it must observe,

The sword decrees strength reign

while the tears continue to stream,

their crystalline surface wrought

with one thousand taut

strings of the soul.


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