The Words
The words scrawled on the page
In my loopy, familiar script
The letters march on in their war,
Fighting battles against evil paper,
A dying pen,
And a weary hand.
Yet, forever, I will charge into
The unconquered blankness
Of collegiate-ruled battlefields,
Slaughtering with ink
The tremors and
Uncertainties
Laying siege to
The fortress
within.
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