I am a nation,
At war with the world,
I fight not with weapons or men.
But with letters and words,
I spit forth in ink,
With my trusty paper and pen.

My pen strokes like bullets,
Streak across the page.
My words like bomb shells,
Explode in sheer rage.

They make craters of hate,
Piles of rubble and dust.
But they never hurt anyone,
For I never share them,
Not even with those I trust.

It's a secret I keep,
Buried deep inside.
A secret of war,
I will always hide.
This war rages on,  
Inside my soul.
I am a nation,
And I cannot be consoled.