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If a man sees a sword
There is no doubt in my mind
That he will swing it.
If a woman sees the blade,
There is no doubt in my mind
She will defeat the man.
It is a story from long, long ago
When the two met.
The casual talks
Whose words were at first
Forced and awkward
Soon evolved
They grew into deep, diving scavenges
That searched the soul
And set fire to the heart.
The mundane touch
A slap in the face
A feel on the shoulder
Advanced to a stroke near the lips
A kiss on the neck.
They were an odd couple.
Devotion of the heart always fell
To devotion of the sword.
When he came home,
He only wanted to please his own sword
She would leave many a time
With blade in hand
When she realized what she had entered,
What she had fallen into.
Every day she would practice.
Sewing the seams
Of a ragged fabric,
The lost art.
Often, she would slash herself,
A mistake or a punishment, only she knew.
The metal rang
As she jousted, parried, and thrust
She could escape,
She could thrive, she could live!
When a new one entered the fray,
She was surprised.
When they began to practice,
The two painted
A living masterpiece.
The woman found him interesting,
His generosity was overpowering—
After she had run, no longer was there shelter,
Not even an embrace from husband’s arms.
But with this man she could escape.
They would duel every day,
Moving from place to place
As they learned of the husband,
Who had since plotted to kidnap her,
And make sure she never left again.
The villages they had just left yesterday
Were in ruins the next morning.
She would cry at night,
Sometimes wishing she had went back,
Sometimes hating she had ever meant
This domestic tyrant.
When her sparring mate left
To do things of his own accord,
She awaited him.
The woman was strong, she told herself
As she threw off the robes binding her.
Her returned to see her bare figure,
Brushed and beaten in some spots
An attack or a sacrifice, only she knew.
She smiled,
Knowing that this time
She would be the one releasing the sword from its sheathe.
She could thrive.
They ran to the edges of the land,
Until they could run no more.
The boats, they knew, would not sail for them.
The times, they knew, would not turn back for them.
The had sparred and sprinted to the brink of the continent,
Husband’s influence had grown.
She would not stagger, she could not.
The woman looked at the swordsman’s eyes
And so they loved
Until they could love no more.
The king of the house
Had become ruler of the land
He came for his wife, his “right”
As he called it.
She waited as he came to her,
As his troops secured the town.
Her love approached the two.
Her blade was out.
It was her fight.
She watched as the fabric she had sewn
Draped around her.
She was the brush, slashing at a canvas
Only she could see.
The tears she released were not for sadness,
But to clean her blade.
As he fell, she smiled.
A glance at the army was all it took.
She was unstoppable
For she had found her greatest treasure of all.
She could live.
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