Sharp Tongue Warfare
(jason a pace)
Syllables flying soaring and diving.
The essence of one very so conniving.
The blazing path of a battlefield aftermath.
Bodies and egos lying from the wrath.
Of the war so fought without sticks and stones.
Just the dryness of tongues so eager and bold.
Unlike never but just like ever.
How precise and prickly the darts bedevil.
When distance is great the recieving end hates.
But does not pursue for closeness will date.
The possible showdown that's been so prolonged.
But hasty fate will not soon be late.
The dodging and dipping and swerving not tripping
May leave one around for the final lynching.
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- The Day I Lost My Temper
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