Pass me my pen,
So I may go to battle,
There is a war brewing,
Between head and heart.
Troops must be called,
In the form of neatly,
Printed, black letters,
Each marching promptly,
After one another.
"We cannot let the emotions win,"
The head orders steadily,
Always analytic.
"Think of what good could come of this,"
The heart says to her troupes,
Her tone far gentler than that of the head.
Each side has merit,
Evenly matched.
A dual is bubbling,
One which will only have,
A ****** end.
One side will win out,
But there will be no victor.

So pass me my pen,
So I may go to war,
My words will fight the battle,
Upon the pale page.