the clash of metal against metal
ring in my ears like the screams
of the butchered rebels
still haunting my dreams.

the rusty tang of worn out swords,
our tunics, drenched with sweat.

blood will spill,
had this been a real blade
you would bleed,
'till the time came
for you to leave

sword fights are a dance,
with a beat that goes on and on,
and steps that put you in a trance.

make the swings a blur,
the time will be long gone
and 'was' would be 'were'.

when the fight ends,
another comes along.