steel

Shininng metal armor, gleaming swords
the way that metal shimmers, cutting open doors
whether rich or happy or poor,
we've all seen metal before

Careful so it doesn't rust,
don't let rain get the best of us,
Old age should not mean dust,
good shape and swords stay just.

If everything was still wooden,
would there be fewer fights,
or would they wait till we're sleeping,
deep in the night,
to go on creeping,
slicing dreams from hopes of high,

if metal was wooden,
would splinters be spread about,
as the king made a grunt,
and sat down-
would the crown be made of leaves,
delicately
trying to show the one in charge
but leaves blow away,
to a land of far,

and whats a king,
to show he's royal bound,
without a crown?

Poem by NovaBorn