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Poetic Warrior
The wounds were cut deep
the enemy slain before they
even knew, and yet no blood
was drawn to flow, skin and bone
still intact, the wound was cut
deep into the soul, for with my
words war was foretold.
With my words a silent
challenged posed, with my words
hate was born, and their weapons
were sharpened to try and inflict
upon me and drag me down.
But in their angry verse I found
a true power, not a hand need
be raised to make them tremble
and bring them down to their knees.
I need only but to speak the
truth in my serpents tongue
to stand my ground alone with
only my rhythm as a warriors
drum for my shield to protect me.
But my spirit flows strong
and I will not waver nor weaken
come as they might, they were
stricken long before they reached
me.
My weapon is in the power
to speak enchantment that
rings truth and inspires fear,
their insults are arrows dulled
in comparison by my weaving
bardic song.
They have tried to bring me
down, but I stand out of their
range and can only laugh
to know they honor me in their
insecurity, for it my words were
weak and flaccid, then they would
not be cut so deep to come for
me.
10:26 PM - 1/6/2007 -
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