Weapons of Choice

The spear of the hunter moulded to his hands;
The sword of a prince, hangs heavy at his hip;
The arrow tip of the Hunter, glinting in the moonlight;

Weapons of choice,
Chosen by their owners for best value, for comfort, for protection
Trusted allies to use against seas of enemies.

My weapon of choice is the pen,
For they say the pen is mightier than the sword.
And they’re right.

For words cut deeper than knives,
Insults cause more damage than spears,
Injuries that last longer.

A wound to the flesh heals quickly,
No emotional requirement to fix
And then it’s back to normal.

Words of poison inflicted by the pen
Infect their victims from the inside out,
Plaguing their systems with no resolution.

The wounds from the pen are never-ending,
Words tattooed on the flesh
To remain there forever.

And forever they stay,
Smacking the victim over and over
Until they build,

They take over their victim,
Suffocate them, overwhelm them,
Until they’re deteriorated to nothing.

The pen is mightier than the sword,
And this saying,
Simply could not be truer.

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