Dividing asunder with a double-edged dagger
A poet's weapon is the pen
Cutting across the page
As the drying ink bleeds
Staining the pure battleground with
The spoils of a hard-won war
Crossing battlelines in between the mists of obscurity
Blended by time and fighting for clarity
I alone stand on the edge of this precipice
Awating the dawn of this war.
Sharpening my pen, I prepare for battle!
*written Dec.31/09 at 1am*