Fresh from the forge,
they still carry a spark,
if you look closely you can catch them
smoldering in the dark.

Steady under starlight
mirrors reflecting the moon,
but they hide from the intensity
of the sun overhead at noon.

Tread carefully in their presence,
unless you wish to learn
the swiftness of their ire
and how cold their fire burns

For whether eyes or guns
or ruthless will,
mark my words well:
all of these can kill.

*This poem is a continuation of a project where I chose a color, and wrote a poem on the first three words that came to mind. In this case, they were eyes, weapon, resolve/ruthlessness/full of intent*

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