If the tongue is a fire
have I been playing with matches?
If the pen is mightier than the sword,
can my keyboard become
a submachine gun?
An insidious weapon
of mass misdirection
in a lukewarm war of words,
the battle of ‘you’, me & my psyche
a publicly displayed unexploded grenade
for which the Publish button makes an innocent pin.
As a rule I might try
to keep my powder dry
not pepper the page with little word bullets
just to feel their power.
But sometimes my forest of fiction
could act as flimsy camouflage
for 26 little white snipers,
and if something triggers me,
my fingers gather their ammunition,
and I find myself fighting
with my writing
and not for my King
but more for Satan’s whim,
Like the wretched mercenary I am.
So what do I do?
Get in the UN to inspect the troops
Or just full on decommission?
Save my arms for righteous causes
Or just wave a pixel white flag?
Then with the remorse must come
the painstaking minesweeping
of pointed point-making
and barbed wire lines.
But there is always some damage
that cannot be undone
and the wise will know that all of those
who wield their words as weapons
will live to eat them
just as they who live by the sword
will fall upon the same.
So that’s why I hereby swear
to hammer my words into a ploughshare
so that they who come to harvest here
may reap in joy
and that poppies may grow from this page.