It is not hard to weave a poem... soft, and sweet... to gently, charm
the Female heart... if sad, or lonely; dreaming, one day, there might be
true Love, for her somewhere;
but it's just poetry... where is the harm?
Scattering dreams that may not blossom, is just rhyme-bound cruelty.


It is not hard to craft a Sonnet for a Broken heart... it's true;
and, from caring, Female hearts... to gather gentle sympathy.
If, truthful; perhaps, in "like" hearts... belief in Love, it may renew;
if written for effect...
no more than cynical dishonesty.


It is not hard to write in verse, a diatribe... cloaked, and disguised
as poetry...
that thwarted, jealous hearts betrayed, lay forth in spite.
Consider the Bright, Golden hopes of Love the young hold, in their eyes.
Dreams harvested from out our verses...
would you, their sweet vision, blight?


For we hold power, beyond our knowing in our metered, rhyming word;
Remember this, if nothing else...
Your pen is mightier than the Sword.