There is a room where seven swords
are hung upon the wall,
but against the words written there
they can’t compete at all.
Threatening blade can only turn
hearts so cold and hard,
but made to warm and soften by
words written by the bard.
It’s there he sits among his arms
aging veteran of the war,
seeking now to sooth and heal
soul of man remaining sore.
Battles fought have never brought
the solace people seek,
fear and pride and anger
against kindness can’t compete.
The swords he wielded in his youth
bear mute witness when,
he takes a weapon of greater power
attacking paper with his pen.
by Robert Quinn
all rights reserved
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