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|THE WIELDER OF WORDS (standard:poetry, 377 words)|
|Author: Semper_Fidelas||Added: Feb 11 2002||Views/Reads: 1882/0||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Here's an example of shooting yourself in the foot!|
THE WIELDER OF WORDS A masked master of eloquence with abounding potential harbored within, yet clearly within my recognition, from my lips the suggestion fell. The fool spoke out, shared and nurtured an infant talent, now chilled by my own disclosures. Frigid. Where are the warming words? The trembling. The trembling. I cannot get warm. Ever I looked beyond the tortured soul in enduring confidence of some day. Nourished in God-gifted endowment of persistent patience on a path of some day, I caressed belief in a first step to come one faithful day; and so, in hope I limped along deafened by contradictions, taking choices of ignorance over cruel, stark reality. Falling, only to rise again to the words, the words I found for you. Stumbling, I falter again, knees buckled beneath the words. Strength renewed by the words. Oh, a brief respite while words anew you conjure. Equilibrium restored for a day, peace for one day, as my staggering emotion finally finds its feet. But then renewed, refueled, and Muse-invoked, drawing inner strength from societal papillons you stalked my unprotected love in calculated assault. The prelude artillery proves not quite adequate to finish the job in its entirety, yet so effective in weakening fortressed hopes. One after another, relentless sorties you launched, power-packed in daily infliction, bulleted words delivered in perfect diction as oratorical needles to my ears: obligation; control; intrusion; women; sex; relationships; spiritual; groups; commit; out; meeting; online; chemistry; unattractive; new friend; spend the night; dinner; remarry; not you: Round upon round of calibrated combat targeted for direct hits to the heart. Then, with Special-Forces expertise and diamond-cutter precision, you wield the lethal words in timing exact as showering barbs of caustic vocabulary penetrate my being. Fireworks of mordant words spewing, bursting forth, explosive Smart-bombs of rhetoric bulls-eyed upon my battered soul rendering me defenseless, destroyed by my own creation. Triumphant now you stand in the moment savoring the invective victory, content in your full, new life ever vacant of my invalid love. Protective armor abandoned in trust, alone I lie, ditched, downed and motionless, no fresh breath to draw; emotionally riveted, spirit tattered hope shattered and too late to learn-- never thus should I have armed you as the wielder of words. 2/10/02 Tweet
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