The katana was a work of art;
Every sword was unique.
Its point could pierce a heart
And allow the mute to speak.

The katana was both sword and shield,
Used to guard as to kill.
Technically, anyone could wield,
But victory required skill.

The katana to some was an obsession
To be unsheathed and polished every day;
To others, a mere possession
To hang on a wall or lock away.

The katana housed a soul,
One that could not die,
And this creates a whole
When partnered with the samurai.

So it was in the past;
So it is today with me.
These truths still hold fast,
But my blade is poetry.