THE SONG OF THE SWORD, Poetry by B R Peabody

THE SONG OF THE SWORD
by B R Peabody

In the pain of the furnace my body was forged,
Longer than life have I been;
The fury of battle is where I have gorged,
On kidney and liver and spleen;
You think me a trinket so prettily shown,
Yet many’s the life I have claimed;
Parting the sinew and hewing the bone,
My mercy is leaving you maimed;
In hope I was wrought and in anger unsheathed,
Blood flows like wine where I’ve played;
I’m promised to Death and to Chaos bequeathed,
For I am the Devil’s own blade.

Oh thou fool if only you could see the sights I’ve seen,
If only you’d experienced the places I have been;
I rode the Steppes of Russia on the horse of Genghis Khan,
And hacked and slew the peasants on the roads to Kazakhstan.
I’ve taken life of woman and I’ve…