I left the crowd because they were not with me they mocked me they didn't understand what i was feeling. Compassionate eyes burn but unrecognized they are inverted and they heat ones forge so hot that a pair is producing the most precious metal, shining perpetually brilliant.
Who contains the sword that scares away baddies in a glance, that carves through bad intention. Conquering fear with it's welcoming. When it's wielder trips on jealousy, the jealousy that is improperly pestilent; The jealousy that scampers off dusting your carpet with chemical stains. The wielder gazes, feeling out his opponent and through extraordinary magnetism, the creature is frozen, it's greenish black coating begins to sizzle under a steady stare, bubbling, boiling, tossing in torment.
The sword glows it knows it's being fed. drawn from a leather Indian sheath, embroidered with a phoenix & butterfly. Transformation becomes evident... what was jealous & once treacherous is now pale and venerable, almost raw flesh. The sword wains in color outside of its sheath but when lifted starts a flicker.
Stopping for nothing, arms extended, sword in hand, a powerful thrust into the heart of the creature, in a second it is split, a flash and its body is ash. The sword is hot white and it's prey has left not a stain but an ambient glow like a crescent moon. From concentration and fight the wielder of sacred sword is exhausted.
Falling from fatigue yet is grateful in his triumph, is grateful for his sword, and is awestruck by its glow. It's glow is not ordinary it is not mediocre but strong, unworldly it is. By and by, through many battles, hate, irritation, the wielder can distinguish between himself and his arm less and less and less. It's radiation & familiar quality floods his veins and centers in heart.
It has come to him through steadfastness, through hard devotion, and sacrifice. Many battles have been fought. From boy to man and man to god... A champion and his sword of love.
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