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How Sharp My Blade

Updated on January 3, 2013

How Sharp My Blade

By Tony DeLorger © 2011

Custom-built with ornate hilt,

pearl handled blade of eastern ilk,

Razor curved for snug round necks,

blood-letting life from enemies vexed.

Into battle fierce with honour-bound,

oppress the wicked of lies resound.

To sever heads from fractious men,

who stand for ideals that much offend.

With God on side and principles stand,

into the throng of conflicts hand.

I ride my stead of pious right,

my enemies dreams destructions plight.

Of blood and earth the field is strewn,

of death and stench and life in ruin.

The flags of just and rightful good,

stained with blood, misunderstood.

For is it the end that justifies,

conflicts hand of death denies.

Whatever cause the conflicts end,

is never worth the loss in men.

Minds of power and lands to gain,

never has the right of way.

Decimation shows beyond a doubt,

that war is a shallow and fruitless route.

The sharper the blade, the duller the mind.


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