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“Song of the Sword”

The King draws me out of my sheath
Not unlike the drawing of breath
And I sing sharply before I sigh
That on this day no man should die
But raise a man up as his knight
That on his shoulders, I alight
A slap to the cheek, and I return
Back to the quiet, for which I yearn.

I taste the earth when they wish to pray,
When all hope goes an ashen gray.
I become a crucifix and thus they kneel
The hilt on high, the earth holding steel.
They pray for safety, they pray for peace,
And then their prayers all but cease.
For man is but a restless lot
And quickly tenants are soon forgot.

A hand to my blade, an oath given.
A quest–a cause–words that have driven
Men mad–who swears it must be so
And they carry me with them as they go.
There I am, a sword brandished high
To mark a red morning, and men will die!
And all for the sake of one man’s crown,
They’d lift up a crucifix, upside down.

*Author’s Note: My  husband challenged me to write a poem using the words “king” or “sword”.  They didn’t necessarily have to be in the same poem but I think I did okay here.  What do you think?

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