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.
