My new poem
Here is new peom that I call “A question of nobility”
I see my enemy before me. I raise my sword to strike. Then, I falter. The question in my mind is of nobility. For, my enemy’s back is turned. It is said to be foul play to kill from behind when the opponent has no chance to react. But yet, when have I ever been noble. When have I ever been associated with nobility. Why now, after 5 years of hindering the very rules I was raised by, should I turn in their favor. I thrust my sword through his back. He makes no noise as he falls. I turn to leave, when I see my brethren, standing, shocked at my vile act. A second later I am mere shadow with a new question in my mind. It is the question of a guilty conscience. How can I ever call myself a man again?