Unsheathed

On scarlet walls
Shines a relic
Priceless stones
Embedded deep
Around a centre
Of plated gold
Silent in sarcasm
Gloats of glory
Of scarlet drops
Once on its body
Of lies and deceit
Used to provoke
Its opponents
Of heads sliced
By its comrades
Shining behind it
Unsheathed now
To tell their tales
In silence of sight
Of the purpose
Of scarlet satins
Behind their eyes
As a lock of hair
From fallen rivals
Dangles casually
From its mouth
In a heartbeat
Begins yet again
Another story
Unsheathed by
My imagination

Shared at Magpie Tales (#58), One Single Impression (#160 Sarcastic), Monday Poetry Potluck (Lies, Deception) and One Shot Wednesday

Image courtesy of Tess Kincaid at Magpie Tales.

Poetry & writing to me are to me, a breath of fresh air in a life that is sometimes covered by the smoke of sorrow or self doubt. They also become the sweets I share to celebrate when life offers me a reason to. But most of all, they are to me, my life. For each word I write is a piece of my heart, a thought that just had to find its way into the world.

%d bloggers like this: