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*This poem was entered on 2/1/17 but mysteriously disappeared.

The swords that speak in these bitter times
are the ones that draw blood with their nibs.
Commands written and signatures scrawled
take hefty tolls at the edge of sodden graves.

We will not be enslaved by the egos of men
who arrogantly laud themselves as heroes,
who yearn for crowns placed on their heads.
What dissidence we hold for such cowards.

Winds blow free and so should we,
united in this life where evil runs rampant.
Raise our pens without apprehension
until our intention strikes its mark.

Let's bark at the haughty, the cruel, the hostile
who find all sorts of bigotry to their spurred liking.
Brand them with ink filled in weapons held high.
Defeat the bullies with bullets from our pens.

Then we will be free, all sisters and brothers
with one goal that is worth our bravery and courage.
Keep sharp our minds and pens filled with ink
so that we may drink from the cup of our victory.


February 2, 2017
The Sword Speaks Contest

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