"There is more than just being your blade, my lord."
"Then what good are you?" he asked.
I sheathed the blade in my heart in reply.
My master said, "A sword is not a weapon.
Your sword should be drawn, swift, like claws, teeth,
a threat; a promise of harm to pause action for thought."
I was asked, "Why does your sword not kill?"
And I smiled. "The way the Fallen struggle
to avoid a return to grace."
Shadows see things people do not, moving through dark.
I asked: "How was that not wrong?"
I was told: "If it cannot be defiled, it is not sacred."
Unless it springs from silence, no action is pure.
A voice will only define that,
a love merely embrace it.
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