Mark Young

THE QUARREL

Put down those words,
rocks picked hastily from the beach of mind
for your defence. There is no need
for such an action
to be taken.

Unprime your anger. Cannons
never stopped a war but brought
more cannons in to bear. I
am unarmed. See, my hands
are empty.

If you must fight
then let it be with gestures. Once
stinging sentence tears my flesh
words cannot be
withdrawn.

Gestures can be bent
though, broken, turned from anger into love
by slightest twist of wrist.
Here is my hand:
please take it.
 

© Mark Young

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Last updated 10 March, 2004