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

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