I won the war within myself,
And pulled from the stone,
A sword sharper than King Arthur's own.
I won the war without a fight,
Not a soul crushed,
Nor ego bruised,
By an unfair compromise.
I won the war with a rose,
Thorned and soft petaled,
Presented to the enemy,
In a bouquet of words.
I won the war,
And I won it fairly,
Without a drug to quell me,
Nor a drink to fire me.
YOU ARE READING
Waiting for the Rain to Fall
PoetryPoems that twine thread around the broken bits of a soul, that fling umbrella lips into beaming buckets and kind of just make you want to say, "life is beautiful, isn't it?" - a totally unbiased review from me, the author.
