I am master of words. I command, and they march forth To do my bidding. When the battle drums sound, They arm themselves with slender swords, Delicate and deadly, Designed to slip through every hole In an opponent's defenses And leave wicked wounds. When they come to the bargaining table, They don their smoothest silver And enter into the intricate steps Of a dance that leads them in circles, Drawing slowly closer To their true purpose. When they must be kept at bay They find themselves facing walls Tall and strong Behind which they can find no exit. I am master of words, Until I fall into those endless chasms Set in twin blue-green seas Framed by milk. The swift and deadly swords Become sticks in the hands of children. The dancers stumble and stutter Over once-graceful steps. Walls crumble, and every errant thought Now seizes on the rich supply And flings the words forth, A hairsbreadth out of reach Of my grasping hands, Now just too slow to ****** them back. With a single glance, the tables turn In a heartbeat And the words Become master of me.