The tracks of swords are omniscient,
Difficult to behold, hard to distill,
Unarguably all-powerful like the created
Beings stirred by imagined spirits.
Conquests burden the buried plains,
Where the undead roam grunting and gravely
Hunting, housing the dead heart,
And the tongue of death so great.
My arch-devil befriends another demon,
Feeding the conquered swordsman,
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: fighting