Anything, or is it just arbitrary?
I think not arbitrary; I know the keenness;
The keenness of blood and steel,
The coldness of steel chilling the warm blood.
No, not as though you were steel: you, real,
You, flesh and blood like me; my heart.
It is the murderous slashing of your own heart
That makes mine bleed - no, more:
The hard scarring that threatens to cover you over,
That I can feel within my very heart, for you once became a part of me.
Love above all, though doubt reigns too.
The pain is love's, unmistakably. None else could be so keen.
No, but I digress: this pain speaks,
Tells me of a danger not yet past
A danger lurking behind firm assurances and calm gazes,
Something yet there that will not relent, will not surrender.
The battle is not won, I sense it.
This is a matter of life or death.
A matter of the victory of Love or of darkness.
I cannot bear that darkness have dominion:
His is not the right. In Love I fight.
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