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By Marcus Dwemer

 

Drogue, Rogue.

Arab beauty.

Special Heir.

Jump up-down.

Slice like an Arab Ninja.

What is the blade?

Sharp point with Arab Brittle.

Separate from the end.

Muller Tick-Tock.

Poison the Tyrant.

Bomb the Oppressors

And, swordplay.

The blessing from the gods;
The stares of my allies.
I fight to help the flawed.
I kill the ones who take my prize,
And look deep into my enemy's eyes.
And if they ever try to be restored,
I will kill them with my iron sword
The blade the Rose a dance entwined
Honey dews smear and gleam to shine
Thrusts and parries deep Rose depth
Scents unleashed    battles heady wine
Succumbs this rose      penetrated blade
Unfurled she weeps sweet petals tasted
Her bud erect ,raw of blades   sharp touch
The Sword , The Rose , this skirmish sated.
I never thought you were the type of guy to buy drugs,
you never even have milk with your cereal.
I wish I hadn't known about your double-life,
At least try to make one of them good.
You have no right,
Going by your first name under the sun,
and your middle name under the moon.
I find myself wanting to,
protect the world,
save those from evil,
stop sick disgusting people.
I want to rid this world of its sick desires,
I want to destroy you, I want to kill you, you who are scared of my words.
My words may scare you but you should be terrified of my swords,
And I’ll swear by forty swords
If a sword is what will appease you
SWORDS!” I’ll shout with mock obscenity, “Oh, swords!”
And you’ll wordlessly curse me through pinched eyes
And you’ll inform me that I am not a jester
And that you are not my mother, nor my caretaker.
But I swear, (swords!)
Like a puppet master, like a ventriloquist
You’ve got me speaking in idioms

A foster home, I’ve adopted your character

And, doing so, determined your actions foolish
And you the fool and jester.
The wolves are at my table
I offer them food
They are hungry

The wolves are at my throat
I smile at them
They are just joking

The wolves are at my window
I am in pieces
They are satisfied
So This is the final battle ground,
This is where my heart settles in the soil.

Where the silver swords clash
And rich blood seeps into a crimson soaked ground.

Where the darkening night,
Gives way to truth
And a sorrow washes over the population.

Where a cry filled with rage and regret fill every corner of our minds.
I carry the burning sword of my soul,
Ready to strike upon my enemies.
Orcs and goblins, trolls and wolves, ninjas and burglars.
I cut them all down into little pieces. I left a bloody mess
In my path. I carry the sword of my soul, ready to defend 
God’s light.
This is the final battle ground
Where we shall last forever
Having loved only once
And Cried so many times.

Buried with the blood of our enemies,
Staying forever in a memory of violence.
Our hearts shall never truly find the light.

Swords clash
Sparks fly
Turmoil ensues
Let us stop this now
Before it kills us all.
Silver seam dream
locked in liquid sunshine
Swords into ploughs
The Dove of Peace
Peace brothers/sisters
My soul is a sword.
This life is my fire.
My choices are the hammer.
I will cut through the veil,
I will reveal the truth.
I carry the burning sword of my soul,
Striking at the evil ones. Rapists, burglars, molesters,
Murderers and liars. I cut them all down, I chop off
Their heads. They ask me for mercy, but there is no mercy.
And I’ll swear by forty swords
If a sword is what will appease you
SWORDS!” I’ll shout with mock obscenity, “Oh, swords!”
And you’ll wordlessly curse me through pinched eyes
And you’ll inform me that I am not a jester
And that you are not my mother, nor my caretaker.
But I swear, (swords!)
I swear that my mother has never hatefully condemned me for making light of a situation
Never folded her face into contorted revolt at my weak attempts to mend a fractured conversation.
cold hands
tired eyes
tattered 
torn
never died
never born
nothing to lose
nothing to gain
just bleak 
mundane
no thoughts
My soul is a sword.
This life is my fire.
My choices are the hammer.
I will cut through the veil,
I will reveal the truth.
Though time never stills
And we have little frills,
My feelings will always endure
And though truer,
Are your words
Less daggers more swords,
Don't you think
That if I could I would sink,
Into your eyes
Pretty lies,
Every wink of your lashes
Whips to my back, and ashes
Piling up from the fires
Every time my heart aspires,
To be next to you
My enemies see my burning sword, they run away in fear.
Poor fools, they cannot escape my anger. I run and catch them.
I take away their hands and legs. They beg for mercy, but they will get none.
I carry the burning sword of my soul, ready to defend God’s Light.
To the fingers that squeezed my throat
     Swing
To the eyes that tore open my cotton shell
     Stick
To the comments that bruised my confidence
     Sling
To the absence at my self-sickened bedside
not only does cancer cause the immune system to whither 
but the soul to float about the clouds 
in search for ambition
to discover a better life,
or a better place to be. 

not only does illness cause bones to shatter 
but hearts to reach their last beats 
surrendering blood 
for a manageable death 
or better type of sleep.

not only does a person cause hearts to break
but lives to cease  
and minds to be manipulated
for stabbing memories 
or uncovered scars
Moonlight feels like
identical twins separated
Nepthys and Isis shot across
opposite ends of infinity

Their mutual rhythm 
only sound sane
with the other
a rhyme to the reason
because that is what art 
is.
Since when has anything ever been
set in stone
without growing into another white lie
floating in the mist
of another form that couldn't be compared to this
but rather another aspect in this

There are no questions left to ask The High Priestess

Everything I needed to howl at the moon
pin balled back to me in the vacancy of desert skies!
I carry this burning sword, the sword of my soul.
I alone can wield this sword, it is my shiny thing.
Do not mistreat me, or you will feel the sting
Of this burning sword, the sword of my soul.

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