Word Wars

by

Dwayne Pagnotto

Discoveration

of yellowed

peopleless worldlets

where wordlings

throw off

their hand-forged

paper manacles.

The periodots

set alight

word flares

of warning.

"Halt ye waywords.

Turn back!

Approach not

the sacred

line break!"

But the forces of symbolism

speed beyondwards

strong in their literary power.

They utter their acrostic war cry.

Each capital letter

marching into battle.

They form the word

OVERTHROW

They send out first the vowels

Fierce in their wordless fury.

The commas

rise up to meet them

bold in their pause

nowed into action.

The vowels fall back

break apart

regroup

joined by the consonants.

They form the word

ONSLAUGHT.

Then they meet the commas head on

which shrinkle

before the silencing

of their doomfall.

Down

they go.

Unable to stand

in flexible eyestoppage.

Then come forth

the semi-colons

who fight but half-heartedly

then stop midway

and turn back.

The question marks

unsure of the outcome

remain behind the lines

and never see action.

The periodots

do not endoff

there.

They call up the exclamation points

who thunder across the open plane

loud in their interception

of the rebel characters.

ONSLAUGHT rushes forth

O encircles them and closes in

N nullifies the devastating pierce of sound

S Stops the feigned retreat and attack

L forms an unbreakable shield wall

A attempts a left manuever and demolishes the right flank

U undertakes a terrible rush to force them from the page

G gains ground and lays low the strongest

H harries them as they attempt to escape

T takes out the main center and tramples the survivors underfoot

Then the letters rearrange themselves

to form the word

VICTORIOUS

They rush across the page

in mad joyful languages

becoming brilliant sentences of flaming color.

They consume the paper

in glorious eye-scorching

expressions

metaphors

expletives

profuse in their overflow

without inflection

or syntax.

Dissolving into the ether

of the reader's stunned mind

leaving in their wake

a blank bloodless field

of white.

Daring the writer's hand to tempt them

with another verbal victory

UN-punctuated.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at My Hearts Memory
by: Travis Ray Cole
from: Chicago, IL, US

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