A Proliferation

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The pen,  more like both but neither of which

for a pen is greater than any sword or gun.

The ink, is it the bullets that pierced the heart with lead?

“Or is this blood from that heart from which the restless dead?”

As he hones the pen better than any weapon, to no false empire did he claim,

Too understanding, and still a simple life he wanted–to write and teach in no vein.

Not gifts used, the world he seduced. Not yet born but a new world produced.

Fabrications the barrier, but possessed a slick tongue he did.

Slipped to the world, it was deceived again.

C. B Wagner

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