I Slew with my Left Hand
I was the Betrayer, the exile,
Who, satiated by the blood of swans,
Set white sails, blazing brands in offering.
False, burning, all-consuming pride,
Smothering beneath a pall of smoke.
I died a thousand deaths that day.
Bitter torment, I raged with blood-tang on my lips,
Prayed not for absoloution, but for death.
I was redeemed, unasking. Sweet, precious, deadly blade
Singing, as tortured steel strikes through flesh.
Bright jewel that reeks of slaughter, unattainable.
And I betrayed myself.
I slew with my left hand.