February 8, 2011
By FallynSkye BRONZE, Rochester, New York
FallynSkye BRONZE, Rochester, New York
2 articles 0 photos 1 comment

His blade is his pride.
It feeds off the blood of his enemies.
Its purpose is to punish-
Never protect.

He strikes without thinking.
A shadow of a person.
The samurai code is carved into his eyes.
His honor and sense of justice blinds him.

He doesn’t care about the body count.
As long as he is destroying
The temptation to go bitter,
In the hearts of humans.

It is midnight.
Stars are falling.
A moon, half swallowed by the dark,
Casts a pallid light,
Illuminated his Katana.
A blood stained face is reflected.
It is not his blood.
It is never his blood.

He is crouched
At the side of his target’s house.
His hearing is sharp,
From years of brutal training.
The sound of light breathing and snores fill his ears.

His Katana is at his side,
Like a loyal friend,
Craving for revenge.

His hands trembled.
Not from the fear of death,
But for the excitement.

He clutched the familiar handle of his sword,
And tapped his nail against the cool blade.
The urge to rush the mission was strong,
Like a wave overpowering the sand
On the rivers of Usuki.

His heart sang the lullaby,
Of a fallen friend.
Who’s face never fails
To bring him pain.
His lips form a silent scream
For the partner who died.
Where was she now, while he risked his life?
Where was she now?
Will he ever get a chance to say ‘goodbye.’

He silently padded across the wooden floors,
Seeking the master’s quarters.
His mind wandered to the past.
Memories of a similar night,
With a girl who was now
Trapped in eternity.
On failed assignment.
One life lost.

He slid the paper door open, no longer caring who heard.
There he lay.
The man was asleep,
As if he did not have such a high price of his head.
At his side was his wife,
With their son in her arms.

He raised the Katana,
And felt its last owner,
The one he loved,
Who was torn from him by fate,
Stand behind him,
Her hand on his.

With more strength than he needed,
He swung.
A beautiful kill,
Presentable to even a queen.

He cleaned his Katana,
On his kimono,
As he walked into the night.
The tainted smell of blood was devouring him.

A samurai’s Katana is designed to punish-
Never protect.

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