Sword

On the wall it hangs,
silently.
In scabbard encased.
Secure.

Secrets

What secrets might it conceal?
Courage, heroism
earned on battle's field?
Challenge?
In conflict no quarter.
Honor?
Was it never drawn with biased intent?

Silence.
Is that subtle clue to all?
Disturb not sleeping essence,
for to disrupt its peace.

Its honed edge will draw
taste, and carry blood's stain.
Sword.

On the wall it hangs,
silent, foreboding.

Symbol..., prophesy?
12Aug10

poem by Kurt Hearth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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