The sun's blaze showered the lands with its fiery rays.
Hot and humid air brushed upon dripping faces.
An awkward silence crept through the seemingly busy and unfamiliar streets.
We call it, "The hour of the horse", what should be a normal morning in Edo.
But not one would utter a world to speak.
A heavy fealing hung in the atomosphere as civilians walk in a daze.
Never had I felt so out of place.
There was a rustle in the distance.
A musky smell emerges and the scent of blood flourishes.
Tall black shadows approach out of the corners of my eyes,
as I wipe away beads of sweat.
Two men with long, steel swords cut thorugh tall grass and dangling branches.
Panic grew all too suddenly within my chest.
As I look around me,
I see the frantic scrambling of onlookers holding onto their loved ones.
I take a step back.
Clammy hands embrace the handle of my wakizashi.
It's short, slick blade dangling in its scarab at my hip.
With heavy training in swordsmanship, I normally should have little worries.
The strangers wielding blades grew closer,
their darkened eyes carrying no emotion.
I froze, my heart skipping.
Bodies lunge in the air.
Sharp blades which reflect light, slice through flesh.
The sound of tearing, shoulder burning, and all I can do is stare.
Blood trickles down my arm.
My clenched fist around my encased sword quivers, but I no longer hesitate.
What felt like minutes was hardly seconds.
I unsheathe my weapon as I aim to the sky and draw a thin line at the figures above me.
The wet sound echoes thorugh the street, as a dark shade of red paints my head and down to my feet.
People scream and local swordsman on the road flash evil grins.
As the bodies collapse and lay limp on the ground, new men approach.
Swords in hand, they are ready for more.
It was at that moment that I swung my blade back into it's scarab.
I reach for a long sword just under it, eyes narrowed and mind focused.
The samurai spirit within me, now awakening.
A thin, double-edged katana swung out of its home at my side, hand no longer shaking.
My arms move with such percision, I didn't waver.
Slashing thorugh the air and turning humans into cut slits of paper.
Shredded bodies littering the dirt below me,
I now lower my arm gripping the blood-stained blade.
A soft pitter-patter can be heard.
Drops of blood splash into large puddles at my feet.
There was a small warm breeze.
With a short inhale of the air, I can feel my own lips curl up into a smile.
The danger was over for now. At least, for a while.
My body was once again at ease.
© Copyright 2016 aimperato. All rights reserved.
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
Poem / Poetry
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