I sit there,
waiting patiently,
for my master’s arrival,
for my victim to show himself,
for the onslaught.

I’m sharpened every day,
my hilt a gleaming blue,
polished to the core,
cleaned even more.

But never have I had the chance,
to show-off my expertise,
to slowly scrape the edges off my nemeses,
and to taste sweet blood.

But today,
I’m sheathed and ready,
going aboard,
seeking my destiny,
for the time has finally arrived,
for the kill.

I jump up in joy,
sparing a smile,
and for the first time,
in my boring life,
I whisper,
I’m ready.

As the sound of metal and leather,
awakens me,
I ball my fists,
position myself,
and charge.

I then hurl myself,
onto the oncoming adversary,
battling for survival,
battling for victory.

I raise up my sharp metal arm,
and bring it down,
in a perfect, smooth arc,
slashing right through,
like cutting through a tree’s bark.

I face my nemesis’s master,
glaring like an eagle,
and with my anger rising rapidly,
I start my next deadly assault.

I swing back my metal sheathed,
killing machine,
and bring it back in a smooth arc,
jabbing right through,
the sweet flesh,
the juice dripping from my sides,
and finally, pull back in a smooth motion,
satisfied.