The top third of the edge is marred with rust.
The smallest notch interrupts a sheen of light.
It sends back tales of metal slabs turning life to dust.
Preening imperialists wielding them had, once,
courageously followed the gashes left on jungle-strewn continents,
through hacked up vines and bodies, filling in the inevitable gaps
in their souls with whiskey and the softness of the living natives.
Blades are interesting because they all appear to be what they are.
This is not a condemnation towards those who love a dissembling life,
but armaments have maintained a strong presence in history
when faced with pacifist and warrior alike.
What a marvelous thing such power is! I will say nothing
of certain discreditable “women’s” thinkers, who have many times noted
the passing resemblance of knife and spear and slashing sword
to one of the portions of male anatomy that seems
to be most offensive to prudish minds.
It is perhaps not intended to be taken as an actual argument.
After all, if it was believed that weapons fashioned in the manner
of tulip bulbs would efficiently kill others en masse,
it produces no doubt that these new terrors would be condemned
by the professoriate on the grounds that they resembled
the inner ear (or nerve clusters) of a violent man.
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