Sonnet

Should I compact you in a wooden box?
My sword’s much better and much stronger.
Blood runs through my veins boiling rage of war,
And orders come and go not much for fun.
Sometimes too soon the blood of mankind shows,
And seldom will the poor samurai die,
And wasted blood from blood sometimes flows,
By guns, or fighter’s boiling rage, I’m high;
But this infernal bloodshed will not end
I am passionate of that stench blood gives,
I will bring death to others on my bend
When my internal rage starts to grow it lives,
So long as men still live and I can breath,
So long lives war, for it gives life to me.