It sits on my desk
Like a welcome lover
A wisping black curl with
A golden tip bloodied
By India ink and
Poisoned words.

I have killed thousands with
Its innocuous aid
Murdered the innocent and
Punished the guilty.
Its innocence is tainted
With a despot s power.

Heads have rolled
To rest at the feet
Of drunken warlords.
Children have screamed
In baths of fire
I am a writer, and
My pen rules the world.

© Rie Sheridan