There it is, old and rusty
Battle ridden, it has seen so
Much over the years, there might even
Be dried blood stains from fallen enemies on it.
Used in a time where war was all the world knew.
A time of peace in-between war was when it was crafted
A captain, was how
People knew my grandfather back then,
The only reason, he was the highest ranking official
After all those above him were killed.
He fought the Japanese in WWII,
In the jungles of New Guinea
In the jungles of New Guinea
He said he knew when the natives were watching
Because they gave off a foul smell
Although he never liked to talk much about it
The knife has the storied history written all over it.
The old leather case crunched up, fading into gray.
The rust on the handle and the blade, as rusty as the cars in a junk yard.
You can feel the history as you touch it.
Your imagination can run wild when you think about all the years,
The knife has lived through, all the history.
The thought that this knife could have taken lives
Makes it sting to the touch.
Maybe it was used for getting food or preparing it
While he was in the jungle, it could’ve also been used
For more practical uses like cutting through
The thick lush of New Guinea.
You want to know the truth,
But that’s what makes the knife more mysterious,
You can speculate like a mad man, but the truth won’t be revealed.
The only purpose the knife serves now,
Is to be reminder of a time where the world is constant turmoil.