Center this sabre

This lazuli hue before me

I create out of my emotions

That i am attached to.

Yet the code tells and commands me 

Not to.

But when wield it upon my wrist to the hands that grips it

It allows to be my extension

Not as a weapon

But a life civil enough not to use it.

Yet a similar instance

When a rage becomes nothingness 

And into a flurry of whizzes and blurrs my intention

Yet there is something

Holding back not to kill

Not to feel the pain

The suffering of blocks, jamming swinging 

Of these blurred blades that i call

Sabre.

What then do i gain if i keep holding back

When the justice 

Of the tip cant give life back

When swung

When it hits

Remorse

Regret

One keeps yammering 

Dark side

Light side

Force is a force when you only have to

But doesnt need to.


What then is a sabre not a sycthe

Accustomed to be design.

A life of meaningless swerves of belief

Then belief if you use that which ends life

Passion or compassion

Arrogance or Impatience.

Call it whatever

A sabre is still a sabre.

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