I hold this pen
and think of swords.
Ink has been flowing
for generations,
words have been written in stone,
peace has been penned
on page upon page,
but the sword still
soaks the world in blood.
It is the sword that is mightier
than the pen.
Emotion, unsheathed,
destroys words,
murders reason.
Violence begets violence
no pen can ever end.

Still,
I pick up my pen,
hold it up to the sword,
and get ready
to bleed.