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THE WIELDER OF WORDS (standard:poetry, 377 words)
Author: Semper_FidelasAdded: Feb 11 2002Views/Reads: 1882/0Story 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

   


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