I learned the blade from dead men’s hands, Ink and blood in the margins. Not myths, not crowns, Just structure, timing, and leverage. Measure before intent, Feet before the strike. If you don’t own the distance, You don’t own the fight. Posta di donna, weight on the hip, Violence coiled, quiet, still. Vom Tag high, sun over steel, Every opening bought, never given. This isn’t strength, It’s structure. This isn’t rage, It’s control. You cut to end me. I step offline. I take the center. Now it’s mine. IN THE BIND I READ YOUR FEAR PRESSURE TALKS AND I’M STILL HERE WIND AND FEEL TAKE THE LINE YOU PUSH HARD I CUT TIGHT Liechtenauer wrote it plain: Strong and weak don’t lie the same. If you force it, you’ll be fed To the edge you never read. Zornhau breaks your crown, Krumphau eats your guard. You chase power. I chase balance. One of us won’t walk far. Absetzen, thrust through thought, Your plan died without time bought. I don’t need speed, I don’t need hate, Just timing held a half-step late. IN THE BIND YOU SHOW YOUR HAND STEEL DECIDES WHAT WORDS CAN’T STAND I DON’T VOR I ALIGN BONE AND EDGE AND BREATH AND TIME This isn’t sport. This isn’t play. This is consent To be corrected. Every scar a footnote, Every bruise a proof. You don’t win with force— You win with truth. Fiore wrote it soft and slow: The fight is finished Before the blow. MEASURE TEMPO LINE STEP CUT TAKE WHAT’S MINE READ FEEL END IN THE BIND UNTIL THE END
