Challenge

The challenge resides in your eyes
as you wait for me patiently, thinking
to catch me off guard and so finding
easy prey for the predator you are.

You chose the sword, I chose pen
and paper, and your laughter echoes.
as you lunge, expecting an easy kill.

My weapon possesses more strength
than you have attributed to it- the pen
stops you dead in your tracks as it writes.

Writes your suffering, humiliation, darkest
and most well-kept secrets. All revealed.
I have just one question: Why fight me?

Shocked and angry at the invasion of your
mind, you lunge at me, but fail to strike.
The pen is winning- just answer me.

You shake your head in horror, still refusing,
and I sigh in resignation, explaining that
this wasn't the only way, not the only path.

Finally you answer me, and I drop the pen,
letting it stop its stealing flow, and your answer,
quite honestly, astounds me utterly.

You fight me because you respect me,
because I'm not afraid to be different,
and that terrifies you to no end.

I laugh then, long and loud and hard,
and tell you how wrong you are. The
face you see is not mine, but yours.

The sword you hold is but a mirror
to the thoughts that lie inside, and the
pen but a conduit to the truth you hide.