Thoughts Arise

They are so pure, so delightfully capricious, never alone, and whenever they get dark they just pour out all their emotions without any inhibitions, till they are content again...

The scabbard rattles; a few rays of light enter the sheath. They dance so joyously on the flawless blade. Will no one ever see their dance? The sword remains sheathed; unused. The blade wrought from metal forged in the core of the earth. Its edge fashioned as sharp as the hawk’s shriek, its balance made as perfect as the petals of a full bloom. And then left in the darkness of the sheath; to wither with neglect, to grow blunt, to rust… “O Creator why did you forge me with such precision? Why did you give me this strength? Draw me once! Give me a purpose and I will unleash the power you created me from. Let me fight. Test my edge.” The scabbard hears the cry. It envies the luster of the blade that it hides from the world. It cuts out the light from reaching the blade. It tries to suppress the lust of the blade for battle. The scabbard fears the test that the blade invokes. For if the sword breaks in its battle, the purpose of the sheath will be lost. It will become just an emp