Ode to Seiji Musashi

The Price is Right:
Evokation of Musashi
The soul stealer.
Rugged. Ripped. Recumbant.
The immaculate blade.
Pearl set hilt.
The devisor, demonizer, haunt:
Punisher of ill-fated twits.
The fire and ice,
The red leaf.
Hiding among the shadows
In nook behind door.
When the door shuts,
The slaughter becomes art.
Not to wound.
Not to show-off.
But to kill quickly.
To repose into the subtle art of mind
Poetry, painting, dancing are all the deign.
Design to enrich.
To sculpt,
To cut away rubble;
Leaving the finely polished stone
To sing forever its lilt.
Thee Master, O Master!
Guide my hands in affinity
So my work is known as the finest.