by Ernest A Miller
This sword is clumsy and unfamiliar in my hand
But its weight is comforting, its potential endless.
I swing and miss time and again, my rapier slicing only my pad.
Perhaps someday it will shine and be a weapon of justice or of true love.
But for now it's in the hand of a lowly apprentice.
A boy, called by some a man because of the responsibilities he carries.
So as I grasp this blunt rusty rapier and place it confusingly to pad.
It is difficult to be ridiculed as you yearn for acceptance of your work.
Yet I put this weapon to pad in love and in confusion.
I wish that it carried behind it some weight of experience or a legacy.
But that is my task to build up my rapiers legend.
To make it a tool to be reckoned with.
So alas i'm off to gouge and parry, blunder and slice my way thru another murdered piece of "poetry."
Still the lowly swordsman's hopeful apprentice.
Posted on 06/05/2002
Copyright © 2022 Ernest A Miller