There is but one bright edge,
That can sharpen my senses
I raise my defenses,
Before its too late
I am threatened,
I hesitate,
I hold my position
I hold my breath
I swing, feet planted, my eyes afraid
I tighten my grip,
En guarde! I yell again
And again.
He has no sword,
Just an open chest
He walks towards my angry blade
Until it pierced his flesh
His eyes cringe,
His lips twitch, smiling still
His voice  assured, 
» En guarde» he says
His wound dripped,
My will heaved 
» Unsheathe» I tried to say
Yet it sounded a lot more like
» Touchè»

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