Crafted through sins of past,
In moonlight destined to bask.
Molded by countless suns,
in spite and fear it runs.
A fragile tool for death,
Shunned by life's breath.
Crafted by light and darkness,
one would expect both harnessed.
A sword severs souls in a hurry,
as blood is overshadowed by glory.
A tender sword cuts to absolve fears,
as blood is reflected in its tears
YOU ARE READING
Poetic Music
PoetryA collection of poems written to soundtracks which are there for you to play.
