When a Pen becomes a Sword

When a Pen becomes a Sword

When pens become swords
Even the blackest ink. Boils a colour of bloody red
Flowing from the flesh of the author. Who, now is dead


When do pens become swords?
When caricatures cut
You don’t see the marks afflicted
On the minds. Pained. By the hymns of the Wicked


What of the death of those
Put to the sword
By pens that light fires of fear
Separating innocents. Permanently. From those held dear


The loss of life is most painful

But surely we too cannot wield Pens like Weapons

To oppress. Torture and Distress

Freedom. Liberty. Respect. And Dignity

Must be held above all else. In the wake of basic tragedy






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