To Hold A Sword Poem by John Dillenger II

When will I fall into the depths,
the thing they call sleep?
I crawl upon my empty walls,
watching my blood as it seeps.
The dirt will drink of it tonight,
though not mine alone.
I will remain here, stand and fight,
as though my feet were stone.
I will not be removed from my own home,
were I have made my heart a hearth.
I will defend my own,
as I have since my birth.
My sword is honed and strong,
my heart behind my blade.
Before my eyes falls my palisade.

The fight begins with a swing,
through anger a war they bring.
I smile at the thought of my life,
though it may not remain long.
I have my lucky knife,
it will sing its song.
The seed in earth found,
in blood now be drown
as my blade lands true.
I look to the next,
'Now this will be you.'
My voice holds no anger, only regret.
What path before these men be set?
Why have they found me, in all there hate?
Why destroy, instead create.

A second slice slits my skin,
in front of me an evil grin.
The general stands as if in glee,
His eyes begin the chant, 'Just you and me.'
I grip my sword, pray it be true
Come now general, it's me and you.
His sword drives at me
between it and I an endless sea.
I will not be had so easily.
We trade strike to parry.
A roll slide me between his feet
He saw his victory too sweet.
I drive the hilt into his chest
leaving no air to fill his beast.
tipping backwards his sword I've slapped aside
but my time I will bide.
I drive my sword into the dirt beside his head,
His wonder why he's not dead.

'Explain to me why you are here.'
Through slitted eyes he peers.
'I've come to settle a score'
'Well no more.
Leave this place now, you've stained the innocent.
Leave this place, you must now repent.
God's place is here not yours.
He cares not for settling scores.'

As one man will I will not.
This hate he feels may be hot,
but life is something I will not take,
not even when it's mine at stake.
For to do that would be to become him
and the thought of that is far too grim.
I will not become what has been,
I will not fall to my own sin.
Instead I will sleep,
for God protects his sheep.
For I can tell time and again,
He has been the shepherd of men.
Men like me, with lost souls.
Men like me, with hearts full of holes.
He treats the wounded, gives them love.
Raises the lost to the lands above.

I take my sword and return it to its place,
of blood on it there is no trace.
The man stands as he turns to me
saying righteousness is for the weak.
His knife pierces the wall behind where I stood
He would have killed me if he could.
He hand is now of no use,
these the terms of my truce.
My knife has slain the mouth of the beast.
His hand on hilt will no longer feast.
He shall learn that life is not to hold a sword,
but to lay it down.