Faye Sizemore


We have become…
some of us…
soldiers of the pen
… warring on paper
… hoping only to win
Each poem… we fight again
not knowing of loss and errors
only tears and hope and prayers
writing without war’s terrors
… a war of words and righteousness
a healing of peace now and then
but never an outcome can we change
… nor… lives lost in battles rearrange
we write of hidden evils and forbidden sights
… of unholy happenings and sleepless nights
Seeking to soothe the souls and right the wrongs
for those living in the shadow of war’s sad songs
Would that we could…
write an end to suffering and wrong
and put back into perspective…
where truth does belong
Are we helping soothe battered souls
or causing war’s memories to unfold?
It is a dilemma that we find ourselves in
but our hand won’t let loose the pen
It’s as if the words do chase the truth
… racing ahead themselves… in pursuit
Knowing not… if fall they ought
only that their battle be fought
brave warriors going forth to fight
sent by the pen who holds the right
and if these words in battle fall
… will the pen miss them at all
It never gave even a sigh
From the corner of my eye…
my hand not aware as it writes on
I see an army appear to right its wrongs
The pen is wrestled from the hand
and thrown upon the battle ground
The silent paper screamed with no sound
‘The tyrant is dead…
… Long live the words’ it said…