my words aren't what they used to be
I've become soft, cold, lumpy and
I'm badly out of practice.
my sharp wit dulled by complacency, I
seek out only use for my sharp tongue
lately I'm sickened by the oppression
closing in on all of us unseen, but
I feel it like a dog-barometer sensing
an oncoming storm.
fear is not an option at this stage, as
I mentally prepare to fight back.
We both know it's pointless but
still I don't back down.
Donning my callous exterior shielded by
absolute certainty and ablative armor,
I ready my sword and take aim at
those who would strike me down.
Disable, don't destroy! Become not
that which you try so very hard
not to hate, but stay detached.
In this struggle, love is a weakness.