In Darker Moments With my Pen As A Sword
In darker moments, with my pen as a sword.
on May 13, 2005. ©-MFB III- All rights reserved
In some of my darkest moments,
when rage at the world
overwhelms my sensibilities,
I can almost feel the urge
to answer the call, and let
my pen truly become a sword.
Sneaking out in the wee hours,
when most of the world dreams,
with all the training afforded me,
by the U.S. Marines,
I would spirit myself
into the quarters,
of some of the world's
most evil of men,
and drive my pen
with furious righteousness
into their left eyes,
only after I had deftly
deflated their right,
leaving them as truly blind,
to the needs of mankind,
as they were when
they were sighted.
Then I would sign
their finely groomed foreheads
in blood with two words:
"Serial Quill-er!"
Oh, how the media would expound
upon the mad poet,
set loose on societies
upper echelons, tragically executed
by a simple writing implement.
They'd rant
or wonder at the ambush
of the dead who knowingly
trampled the rights
of the common man,
or made grave mistakes
that cost many lives,
for the glory of cash
and power, and greed.
Each one's eye sockets would become
my inkwell, and their souls
my postscript to a perfect world.
Alas, the military bled all
of the desires to kill from me,
long ago in the last useless war fought,
and they don't make pens
long enough to reach,
the tiny brains of most
of the leaders of world affairs
and molders of tragedies.
So I content myself
with a handful of
finely crafted pens,
that are delicately
feathered on one end,
and sharpened to surgical
precision on the other.
Then weekly I post the faces,
of the worlds most worthless maggots,
on a large dartboard in my studio,
and spend a few delightful minutes a day, aiming for their eyes.
and pen-atrating their pixeled flesh
Sort of voodoo for the soul
one might say,
It's not a solution
but it calms the rage a bit.
I also post a lot of what I consider
my worst poems on that bored too
and I puncture-ate them as well
poking holes in theories
that were created without merit,
thereby satisfying the blood lust
against what's wicked on this planet.
I am currently working though
on a catapult for typewriters
and word processors,
those useless hulks of metal,
that are now relics,
in this computer age.
They would do quite nicely
as ammo for assaults on
all of the ignorant heads,
of the states of madness,
perpetuated against us.
