He stood there, tall, imposing, strong.
His stride was big and proud.
With war in mind and sword in hand,
With voice powerful and loud.
He walked over, firey eyed,
Challenged me to a fight.
Me? Pitiful, scrawny me,
In comparison to his might.
But I had to remember,
The pen is mightier than the sword.
In hurriedness, I wondered.
I thought of things in haste.
How could I put up a fight?
How could I retaliate?
At last, something came to mind.
"Wait", I said to the man.
"Wait, and I'll tell you about
Some... incidents I've had."
As I kept in mind,
The pen is mightier than the sword.
And then I wove an epic tale,
Of all the men I'd slaughtered.
Of all the fights I'd powered through,
Of rescued wives and daughters.
A look of horror came across,
His angled, scarred face.
He cried out loud, turned around,
Ran off into the haze.
Smiling, I finally believed,
The pen is mightier than the sword.
