Poems
Poems of Antiquity
Short stories
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In the beginning
it was dark
it was stormy
the darkness grew cold
from the darkness came a light.
-- the light was a sword
the sword, alone, without
a hand to grasp it, cuts
through the darkness that
held it.
the darkness retreated, and
spent, the sword rested.
the sword dreamt.
it saw its edges dulled, its
brightness quelled.
awaking from the midnight
dream, the sword finds itself
surrounded. swallowed.
a hand grasps its hilt to
release it.
the hand ... wants to
control, to command it.
the sword had never been
handled before (it was pleasant)
but the sword hid
-- it remembered its father's
words: a good sword knows its sheath.
It is a Perfect Fit.
searching, it finds a sheath
it is true, the fit
only, the sword finds
that the sheath's grip
is as tight as its former hand, and
as dark as the darknesses in
the beginning.
but the darkness was warm, this darkness
and the sword slept.
when the sword awoke again,
it had rusted and decayed.
fragments had fallen off and disappeared
on fragment, the sword could see, was lodged
to the wall of the sheath
then the sword knew: it must withdraw
as the sword pulls out, a chill breeze flows in
li
ligh
lightning flashes
thunder pounds
it is the end
or the beginning.