these words
these words penned down here
they are wild.
caught on the wind, i dragged them down.
i commanded them like God commands the heavens.
i quieted them.
i gave them shape.
they are mine.
i bore them on my back to battle.
i wiped them into my scars to cleanse.
i put them in the fire and molded for myself a shield, and it was my greatest ally.
they are the seal of the king.
when i am about to be struck down
and the sword is raised,
i desperately offer them with a bloodied hand
and the others say, "look, she has merit.
we cannot kill her yet."
they are confusing.
they are the wayfarer.
the seed carried all the way across the earth by sea
to a new world.
they are lost
and they are new
and they are dire for a chance.
they are alive.
they are sometimes a misidentity.
they are imperfect.
they turn on me when the demons start to chase
and there is often nothing i can do to stop them
these words are strong,
flimsy,
loyal,
traitorous,
concise,
prolix,
true,
and misleading.
they are everything.
and they are nothing at all.
nothing.
YOU ARE READING
the shepherd's sword
Random[the things we dare not say aloud] the walls have faces, you know. the angels do not.
