Blood slinging swords slice
through open air,
cutting the silence carefully,
thinly into packages of anger
accompanied by sheer hate.
Darkness hardens and chills
the metallic blades that are tossed lustrously,
aiming for the busiest of arteries within,
anticipating a plea for mercy.
One for another,
the swings more violently erupt.
Eyes crying now with each glint of light.
Rage for each other
itself turns to puncture both beings.
Wounded are these two.
Neither able to rise in triumph,
neither presents a smile of accomplishment,
but instead sink toward the red grass,
one’s hand reaching for the other’s
offering comfort to opposing.
It’s too late now.
