The Truth Commands

Yes, I’m a Poet, but I refuse to be conscripted I refuse to be a victim, my words made out of stone I refuse to bleed my heart out, on a page of blank simpatico I refuse to give you weakness, knowing strength you have disowned Yes, I’m a Poet, but my sword is sharp and pointed My shield is scarred and colored with the blood of firebrands My breath won’t plead while shouting, every name a future conquest My pen in hand, a weapon sure —its ink the truth commands (Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)