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
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Poetic Music
PoetryA collection of poems written to soundtracks which are there for you to play.