Fired by a pen
Words are painful paintings
Many see only its physical fierceness
But the old testify of its nakedness
And sometimes find within it sacred pearls
Words are thunderous strikes
Few see temporary flashes
Threatening dancing images
But the grey Man pause with no frait
And hear the sounds of a turrid nature
The pen is high flying waves
In a physical fist to unravel
Many hijack its nakedness unclean
But the wise linger till after twilight
For perhaps the pen
Holds unseen gleaming virtues
Something for the future yet unknown
Some strange fragrance of Malaysia curls
I stop to wonder
Why the pen seems thunderous
Honesty Victor
