In thought, light takes the place of the sword.
Through each corridor of plastic – flows
this thing we call our movement but is one;
the blue and the red cancel out here
and everything bathes in sparks and pastel
glow. Years of training, tribulation has led
to the point where each prediction unfolds
hyperdriven stars of prediction. And she knows
all coordinates in the force indicate this one point.
Where time moves and vanishes. It is life.
Or the end if you want to call it that. This light
side her opponent cannot grasp, snapped in
on the concrete moment and the feel of sword
cutting through metal and skin. There is more
to a fight than winning it. That’s the dull phrase
but more. Gaining from this loss all power
by choosing to elevate choice into its finale.
To a watcher this fight is not spectacular unless
you know each feint, each test contains millennia.
This is the secret the ones in black cannot grasp
confined to the red of this world by greed
fear, anger, hate, suffering. The light side has this
but not just this. Watch as the robe hits the floor
and a million new hopes unfold from it

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