Although your face I rarely see
You scribe sound words that speak to me
The mind you wield has shown its power
In constant motion, ne'er to sour

In rage and anger, men are blinded
Oft failing to respect like-minded
Our blades and claws can speak but merely
Our pens can form a thought quite clearly

Within this process, I propose
A war that's fought with shades of prose
A haiku simple, yet fantastic
Or structured 'abba' laid chiastic

My eyes are fixed on you in hope
That we may war with clever trope
Leave pain of 'arrow to the knee'
To war with words I challenge thee

What say you, old man?




Penned by my hand on the 21st of Aeguary, in the year 664 AF.