Fighters Poem by Atticus Mortimer

A verbal battle,
the quick jabs,
and the slow poisons,
the power of the merest syllable,
able to debilitate and maim,
so why do we not head?
the power that we so easily obtain,
why do we not value,
what has so simply became a snafu,
and in the words,
each meaning becomes like swords,
to hopelessly kill,
and some of us swallow this pain like a pill,
but others fight back,
and become the verbal,
Fighters