Here is an instrument of death.
Forged and refined to be the best.
In the moon light it reflects.
Guided by the hands of those it can trust.
Since the founding of steal, it as always been.
An instrument of death, may it never have to draw your last breath.
I am the sword.
a sword when in the hands of a good man can uproot evil, , , wonderful poem that tells about the glory of a sword
Hello Gary as always a great poem really like the last line an instrument of death may it never have to draw your last breath i am the sword great read well done
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The last line so breaks the flow of the poem and is quite uprooting. I was expecting something different, which once again goes to show that the words of the poem are not as meaningful as what the reader thinks the words of the poem say.