Sacred Cut

Strike to the core and back again
Feed the fear in the hearts of men
Cold steel, turned warm with the soul
Every slash is given in whole

Breath cannot run; it is stopped in its tracks
Life cannot stop the oncoming attack
A glint on the edge; a bead on the tip
A whistle escapes with the trickling drip

Painless and clean; the cut was precise
The victim is slowly escaping from life
Final peace is but butter on bread
Compared to the Feast that they soon will be fed

The task is complete; his work here is done
The warrior returns the blade to the sheath
And revels in silence that only death brings
One soul returned, the battle has yet to be won