Editing Bavarik's Sword Poem


“No weapon can hurt me, 

But the blade with an invisible gleam, 

To destroy all opponents, 

With a fury unseen, 

Striking down evil,

As if it were the greatest killing machine, 

Decimating all wrongs with a wrath obscene, 

Protecting the weak, 

With a might unsheathed, 

Delivering with righteousness, 

That makes it the ultimate weapon of empty fury, 

That can never be beat, 

A divine weapon of the strong, 

That can never be held by the weak, 

A weapon of fortune, 

That makes the fate of demons bleak, 

A weapon that can cut anything, 

When no other can accomplish such a feat, 

A weapon to enact rage, 

And trumpet the coming defeat, 

A weapon from the history page,

That can be seen where only eyes meet.  


This sword is alive, 

With the blood of those it has slain; 

This sword has a mind, 

With the one that has faded. 

Nothing can break its inviolable blade, 

It never needs sharpening, 

Nor will it ever fade. 
 
Nothing can resist the will of the blade, 

As foretold, by the god who had it made.  

It is held in a dark sheath, 

To be contained in the greatest of heat, 

To always be its carrier’s protector, 

To always defend its wielder. 


Nothing can harm this blade's invisible metal, 

Nor can it be stopped, for any fight to settle. 

Strong is the blade that is forever unseen, 

Until blood covers all, of its invisible gleam.  

Strong is the might, of a weapon unsheathed, 

When held by right, to be unbeaten.  

Strong is the sword, that is always in a clash, 

To never be forgotten, and never be held back.  

Demons have died for this blade, 

Heroes have risen to fame by its way, 

Nightmares have fallen slowly away, 

And dreams have come true at the end of the day.  


This is the power of a sword wielded,

by a legend of destruction; 

to have its carrier fielded

the Gods’ weapon of inestimable annihilation, 

to have vengeance unequalled against those who enact rage and infraction. 


It is the weapon to end all conflicts, 

Which can destroy all objects, 

A weapon whose pain is felt when inflicted, 

And foreshadows the coming of death to the defeated. 


The strength of all swords, lies in this one blade, 

From which it was forged, by the God that had it made, 

This sword has been quenched with heroes long forgotten, 

Only to be unleashed on all that is rotten, 

Nothing can resist its divine construction 

Nothing can resist it's awesome destruction, 

But one thing is for sure, of its only instruction, 

All that is made, by evil's rage, 

Can always be hurt, by the will of the blade.”