Notched Sword

Victory isn't a hero's welcome;
It is but a moment in which
The sword returns to its sheath,
Ready to flash out and strike again
Once the next foe comes within
An arm's length.
The victor's blade can never be sharp;
Conflict chips steel from its edge
And notches its fine metal body, until
A master craftsman must re-sharpen it,
After which the warrior must return to the field,
To strive once more for life and death.
Waging war, then, is only a cycle;
Triumph in battle only means the blade is dulled again,
Re-sharpened, re-dulled,
Re-sharpened, re-dulled,
On and on until life is one battle with no rest
And the sword is all the soldier sees.
They say the blade is a swordsman's soul;
It is only a matter of time, then,
Before the metal wears too thin,
And the blade breaks under the stress of combat,
Rendering all victories hollow
And futile.