The Eternal Word

In a world where words have the power to destroy bonds between men. May the poet’s words heal what seems incurably insane. In a place where words such as, “I do not love you”, fracture’s mortal hearts. May the poet’s words, heal your disdain for love. When I write. I do not seek validation. All I wish, is for you to feel something enlightening within yourself. To feel as though the life inside of you has been instantaneously ripped apart, then realigned. My grace. With each poem, I shatter into millions of tiny fragments. And from these fragments, I am reborn. At the beginning of each new line. Of each new poem. I awaken a new man. This is the power of the eternal word. I am the master of the present. A producer of the remnants of the old, and the new. My soul is my sword. My hand, the warrior’s execution, his strength. I need not violence to make me a man. To feel anger without raising a finger in rage is what immortalises mankind. This is what separates men of honour, from men of blood. I have conquered all, but with the strike of a pen. The power of the eternal word.

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