Kikuyu_Black_Paws Posted May 1, 2008 Report Share Posted May 1, 2008 When we say 'The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword', What is it we really think? Blades are sharp and cut through flesh, They kill in a moment, a blink. But the Pen, the words and shapes and sounds, They cut through soul and name, Once they cleave themselves to you, You'll never be the same. You feel them at your fingertips, They run behind your eyes, They push like leaf-buds in your hair, Therefore its words we cry. We sing a song of death and love, We weave that gentle dance, From the feet pound stones and hail, From the wrists entrance. On our tongues are fiery whips, Lashings for the cruel, In our arms are soothing songs, Lullabies for the fool. You see them sitting on the hill, Waiting silent and alone, Look well, my friend, there on that steep, Is where a tale is born. So laugh not at the dreamers, friends, Scorn not those who muse, We are the undying warriors here, Our pens will never lose. 'The Pen is Mightier Than the Sword', Oh quills and ink and pen! Hidden once and long before, Never to be lost again. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Wyvern Posted May 5, 2008 Report Share Posted May 5, 2008 "To never lose Pen's quill or ink what product should one choose? Wyvern's brand of molting peacock - it's bleeding ink backed too!" Having said his lil' piece, Wyvern leans back in his seat and applauds Kikuyu's poem, tapping his tail stinger on the edge of his seat and feeling a little better about his lack of skill in claw-to-claw combat as her words slowly sink in... ;-) Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Ozymandias Posted May 6, 2008 Report Share Posted May 6, 2008 looks And the world speeds past, and swings around...heavy tiled roofs of immense towers stand proudly in the sunlight...fire rages and black smoke billows into an even blacker night as a siege finally erupts...lone travelers here and there and yon pad softly across the ground as they tune a myraid of instruments..wings beat with majextic and terrible grace through the air that belong to nothing living...flowers..honeysuckle..singers by fireplaces...trees that point to paths..long banquet halls...laser pistols...robot armies..things looking back from the black as the swim past..guitars..gowns..doublets..capes...masks...swords...fish...air so very blue... looks again And he sees his bedroom, and computer screen, and furniture outlined in the dark. And he bows his head, and thanks you. Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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