The Truth Commands

Yes, I’m a Poet,

but I refuse to be conscripted

 

I refuse to be a victim,

my words made out of stone

 

I refuse to bleed my heart out,

on a page of blank simpatico

 

I refuse to give you weakness,

knowing strength you have disowned

 

Yes, I’m a Poet,

but my sword is sharp and pointed

 

My shield is scarred and colored

with the blood of firebrands

 

My breath won’t plead while shouting,

every name a future conquest

 

My pen in hand, a weapon sure

 —its ink the truth commands

 

(Villanova Pennsylvania: November, 2016)