The Lightsaber

The Lightsaber

The press of a button.

A glow of blue light.

The handle is worn

Down by years of tight grips.

The hilt fits to a a palm

Like a good pair of boots

Molded over the years.

Each scratch and dent

Holds a story of victory

Or a story of defeat.

The sleek lines.

The gentle curve.

The soft hum

Of power.

The way the blue light

Glints off the metal.

It is elegance

In tool form.

A weapon

From a time

Gone from memory.

The bright blue blade

Was a source of peace

The smooth indents

Of a hand

That stood for Justice.

It was known

Throughout the galaxy,

But no longer.