Whilst patiently waiting for others to speak, their words become foot soldiers -- tiny uniformed syllables with their inflections raised in combat. Their fullstops mock you in pretend victory, claiming this verbal landscape as their own.
As their lips close, you breach the gates.
Your voice erupts, and the cavalry is released!
You lance through screaming commas and dangling participles, pools of bloodied tense on the ground.
You hang opinion not your own in the gallows
and the noose is made of mockery.
You imprison debate in the town stocks and
the locks are made of ridicule.
And when all is said and done, (and they cannot be unsaid or unheard) you raise your sails, prepare the cannons, and clean your pistol... ready for the next onslaught, the next jousting, constantly waiting to spar your next opponent in the ring.
Constantly waiting, to place a head on a spike
so the whole world can see
how clever you are.
How clever you must be.
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