I forgive you, the crimes committed against my pen by yours.

My sword remains strong.

If it truly is mightier, why does your pen require the protection of my sword?
Pens command swords that they might be the last pen standing.

My pen remains inked.

Now, your pen calls the removal of my sword. My pen answers, going against the words of yours.

My sword remains strong.

Our pens take to war, a dance of lines and lies and strokes of truth. My pens dips into a well of knowledge, yours, a pool of blood.

My pen remains inked.

Since your pen still stays my sword, your blood pool diminishes and your pens lines, thin and translucent, become more vile. Your pool thirsting for blood threatens to make my sword still my pen. No is the answer, strong and bold with the ink of knowledge.

My sword remains strong. My pen, inked.

This battle ends, my pen with a flourish, yours, nothing more than scratches, too weak and colorless to imprint the parchment of life. Your once mighty pen now lie drained and dead.
My pens final decree, sword, backed by pen, shall henceforth cut blood pens off at the wrist lest we lose the ability to guard our pens with our swords.

My sword, my pen, their blood, your end.

My pen remains inked...

01/10/2015