A Poem by Cory Adamson

The poet
strikes against paper
            like a sword.

Swings, sings out
and ends time for one.
            One movement.

One beauty,
A union of two
            strangers who

Looked but could
 not find each other.
            So one wrote.

And one found.
One movement ended
            The other’s

days. For swords
end lives and pens make ends
            for swordsmen.

The poet does both
and an end shall come
       swifter than any sword

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