warrior, stabbing fiercely
flailing about randomly stabbing at the wind, at dust, fog, snowflakes, breath
soldier, you can cut nothing in this manner
the wind will merely gasp out and knock you down with its ferocity
the dust will get in your eyes and will cloud your vision as you attempt your next stroke
the fog will not be cut and will merely sit quietly and maintain its stubborn immobility
the snowflakes will glide around you dancing and laughing at your silly charade
and my breath, my breath will tease you with its warmth and temptation
until you finally succumb to its truth
put down your weapon
