Eksistensialisme, English, Puisi, Uncategorized

Beth The Sheathmaker

In every end of a wrath
Lives a woman named Beth
One night she carved a sheath
From skins and strings of death

The killers wait outside her garden
With a rusted sword held by a maiden

“Full moon is upon us,”
Said the maiden in a lamenting song
“Lateness is disastrous
For the sword needs to belong. “

‘Tis the sword of jade
Rusted with stains of blood
A natural poisoned blade
And human flesh, its food

And from its recent victims
The heathens the people claims
A new cover must be woven
Before the sword get awaken

But see, dear Beth is too old
For milleniums her story has been told
It’s even hard for her to fold
A sheath to shield she cannot mold

Full moon started to bleed
The sword begins to feed
On those who says they need
To kill because of greed

Beth survives the dreadful mess
She has made an awful dress
The remnants that she caress
Have now become her fortress

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