Old Swords
I run from the world
I hide, not so old
My pen and worn words
Young poet, old swords
Both shield and offense
I count in my tense
To fight is a lie
But with words I try
I’m not out to wound
Play no fatal tune
But I fight to heal
And write to appeal
I’ll never lash out
I’m not so devout
But save myself pain
And write verse in vain
When deaf ears turn side
And I lose my fight
Then all that I know
I'll never make show
If when the day ends
And casualties send
When no one will see,
There’s still Poetry
This poem is about:
Me
Our world