Words

Because I believed in words
over braun the whole world shut down.
I thought your way of tilting your head,
of telling me you love me,
was beyond reproach,
but I thought the way in which I wrote it
was was so much better still.
I gaze the navel,
I bring the end about in everything I do.
I don’t know who you are but
our team didn’t win tonight,’
except, perhaps, yours did,
and, in that case
was it really our team?
What does it matter what they
said when it was Britain,
and it was 1765?
Only a serve and volley make the difference now.
Oh, the word can topple empires.
The pen is mightier than the sword?
I can talk all night and you
will still not understand me,
you will choose to not even try,
but your sword, oh your sword,
it is made of steel,
and it’s slice is final.