Pens and Swords

White. Empty and untouched. That's what this page looks like,

Till my keystrokes register and a stain begins to spread,

Minute characters appear where just seconds before there was nothing,

Permutations and combinations occur, mathematics of words

A skeleton is dug up, it is given flesh

It's blood vessels are pumped up again,

It is told to jump into a pair of baggy jeans, don a jacket,

And it will do what I want it to,

I can send it to China, I can send it to Rome,

I can captivate you Reader in my yet to be published tome,

I find this funny, for all this manipulation

​Takes place in the comfort of my home,

I am not a writer, I am merely a boy,

With a passable vocabulary, doing something that brings him joy

And so I ask of anyone who might stop by to read this,

Tell me how it is that Writers manage to make us cry?

I guess that is why my mother once said to me,

"Son, the Pen is mightier than the Sword"

The Bilge Master