The Blade

Those who take up the sword

shall perish by the sword.

—Matthew 26:52

Sword must be the mightiest

word in the world. See it for

yourself: word is already contained,

its double-

daggered w

left unsaid, mistaken

for a pair of muted v—

fleet-footed samurai

set to slice;

on tiptoes like the shrouded

a in stealth.

It’s the hero’s

weapon of choice—

unsheathed in half-a-second—

the honour that it brings, a rod

for Thorian bolts, epitome

of Herculean effort.

Conan was its servant

not its master. Nothing else

can knight you on the shoulders.

Not an AK-47.

Not the atom bomb.

And surely not a Molotov—

its bearer fleeing the battle

once it's tossed.

It’s the poster boy for

knives; something they aspire to

whenever their drawer is pulled.

It will help you in a pinch;

cut that brick of butter

that’s been sitting in the

fridge since olden days.

Silverware have winced

from golden auras—a smooth,

deceptive texture;

feigning they’re too spotty

to do the trick.

The sword itself

can never be surrender's cause.

It knows no cowardice.

When it’s thrown onto the

ground in acquiescence,

it repudiates the fingers

which concede, always unforgiving;

vengeful to the bone.

It does more than

simply wound. It severs the

brain from body. The body

from the soul. Takes our proud

identity away.

It’s just in its show

of mercy. Merciless

when it’s just. It will invade

and/or defend. It even serves to

splice the conjugations.

Unyielding Excalibur.

Few are worthy to wield.

It’s our past and it’s our

future. Willing to adapt

if it must. Alight in the

hands of Kenobi. Aflame

with Joan of Arc.

Forged when war arrives

& it always will.

The sword can take a punch—

pounded on an anvil

in a blaze, till it blinds us

like the sun. Its deafening,

immutable roar, as though a

mother giving birth

in archaic times.

We are all its sons.

We are all its daughters.

It’s twin-edged for a reason,

honed in its locution.

Its language is its

glory. It harbours the gift of

tongues. We know exactly

what it says when

it disrobes, recoiling from

its naked retribution.

Andreas Gripp

January 19, 2026

RF Photo