Swing, swing, swing,
These instructions - tho mighty simple-
Are harbouring,
The dawn of a new journey.
In my spring,
The instructor held up a tool,
That glimmered in the sunlight,
And yet reflected the beauty of the moon.
"The spear is but a tool of the past,
The shovel only for the daft!
The shield is but a white elephant,
And the bow?Not even worthy of being called a craft!"
He proclaimed.
As mine rage and mine passion waned.
I equipped this glorified stick
"I am a swordsman!", I quipped.
With excitement I left behind not only my questions,
Not only the arts non martial,
But also my brethren in arms unbladed,
And began to,
Swing, swing, swing,
Unabated.
Now I stand here,
With no pen to hold no beauty to behold,
Seeking only an accolade,
Waiting for the lords to pass me by.
(Yet I am still yearning, maybe even for your eyes?)
I swing, swing, and swing,
“That is the path you hath chosen!”
(So they say now,
With neither a shimmer of guilt,
Nor an ounce of empathy,
Just the ability to blame me.)
Yet once more,
As I pick up my sword,
I stand, lost in my own world,
Wishing to slay the demons,
That - towards me - my heart hath dutifully hurled.
To do the one thing I had been taught to do,
Swing at the demons, (wouldn't you?)
"This is the path to enlightenment!"
No longer is that true.
I merely stay,
On this lord forsaken trail
As I am too scared.
Leaving the devil I know?
But he's practically an angel! (Only slightly fallen…)
Such is the wisdom age has given me.
Oh intellect is but so frail…
My heart cries out for the road not taken!
Yet the mind beckons to stay on this frosty path…
For this path may be hell,
The art may be a devil,
But the light at the end is real…
So they say.
It seems they had forgotten that hell is a place that angels seldom wont…
Yet we wont, again and again
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont,
We live and we wont.
Yet we go down the same path again
And we wont, again.
Such is the cycle of a path,
Ironic isn't it?
That someone would pave,
A road to the waves…
Without even learning how to swim.
But when sunset dawns,
And the moonlight shines - No longer on my blade nor my eyes-
This regret is all that I am harbouring.
(Oh west wind, where art thou?)
Serenity,
Are you my path?
or are you at the end of it?
I am as lost as my sanity.
Sold to this path,
Where dreams are rationed,
As a conversational commodity.
So I make like a rope,
And do as taught.
I…
Swing, swing, swing.
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