The Pen

They say the pen is mightier than the sword,

so we write and we scribe.

Others raise their weapons and one by one we die.

Still we persist we scribble and jot.

Now they brandish their weapons.

What fury we’ve wrought!

“How are we to win, if we don’t ever fight?”

We do my child, in black and white

“To hell with the arts, the poetry and prose Slaughter is not the life I’ve chose!”

Then what should we do? Fight until our last?

When all is done we’ll just fade with the past

But with our words we endure, through the eons and the ages

Take heed my child, our war is waged here-

scrawled on these pages.

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