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Warriors in the Pen

My heart hiding inside my pen
the keeper of my words
the high command of my thoughts
living deep down under my smiles
sometimes soft as velvet
and sometimes hard as rage
as passion burns my soul
and words go beyond all reasoning
throwing themselves
into the fires of Gomorrah
 
Passion sought and passion granted
lives in the lawless jungles of rage,
but passion, the salt of the prosaic,
lives in the elegant hills of the flatlands
and controlled by the laws of poetry,
but yet still living on the
outskirts of civility,
as rebels of the familiar world.
 
my heart inside my pen
my credentials to the rebel world
my muted words stuffed inside
impatient, anxious, wild,
wearing halos, horns, smiles, scowls,
voices of the warriors
of the romantic troubadours
the rhythmic walkers
the speakers of the wind
the outskirts on the inside
the tranquil beasts
the warriors in the pen
the poets in the wild

Thank you Joanne for inspiring me to write this poem.

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