Killing Stroke

In yon pale moon’s bewitching light
The noble blade is swift outborne
A silver flash through starless night
The herald of the fatal morn

Yon longsword sweeps with fairest grace
A serpent’s hiss through shadowed air
Cold steel doth kiss the foe’s pale face
And death’s soft whisper lingers there

The knight, unbowed, in gallant form
Doth strike as wind through autumn leaves
No brutish blow, but tempered storm
A stroke the weeping soul deceives

Yon killing sweep, so artful, pure
A dance of flesh, of blood, of bone
Whereby the end is swift and sure
And death doth claim its solemn throne

No savage clash, no errant flail
But mastery in light’s descent
The knight’s deft hand shall never fail
In honor’s stroke, by Heaven sent

The blade returns to slumber deep
Its edge encrimsoned, stained, and bright
And ‘midst the echoes, shadows creep
For death walks with thee in the night