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I played with 513 words in this poem

Fighting Words Play

A poem within a poem (My soul in a poem… my soul is a poem)

(read twice. the little words are mercy. the big ones are justice.)

Stop pretending.

This ONE life is PAINFUL.

If you let it have you

You will let it drain you.

It will suck you down like a three-drink cigarette.

You have to have life

like sometimes it has you for breakfast.

There is only one RULE:

You have to let life change you.

You have to stop fighting it.

that CHANGE.

Take up an invisible sWORD.

Yes, that is right my friends.

We need to PLAY more.


You see we are FIGHTING an invisible war.

and the little ones are the invisible words.   

And let me tell you THE little SHIT’S are JUST EVERYWHERE.

These invisible words we call thoughts

THAT PRIDEFUL part of you that you keep a secret from yourself.

That PROUD memory you have

of her walking out

with your PRIDE in her hands as she walked out that door.

That pride you were free of when your knees hit the floor.

That CHANGEd you.

Have we ever really seen IT

all before?

Where does your love come from my LOST LITTLE LAMBS?

Sometimes it must come in the form of a shepherd’s staff.

That is this pain we feel.


does IT really hurt?

Is change not death and death not life?

We do not have to let stupid little clocks tick us off.

Ticking off this silly idea we call the “precious seconds of life on earth.”

It pisses me off.

i really know we can live beyond time.

DAMMIT we can do this.

Live with eternal souls in temporary bodies.

Hope is right there in front of us.

We just have to START CHOOSING to HOPE.

And keep the little FAITH you need to LOVE.

To FIGHT WILL FREEZE our proud hands TO the DEATH of the sword.

We have no choice but to PLAY TO LIVE and fight FOR WARMTH.

We could stop the violence.

We could stop it with THE HOT THUNDER OF GOD.


THE ABILITY to learn


To dance to THE FUNCTIONal beat OF both THE OLD AND the NEW.

To let “democrat” and “republican” burn like hell.

Maybe then we would see we were under loyalties spell.

This is my TESTAMENT.


This is my soul in words.

Can you see them playing?

See them playing as I sit naked in the bathtub writing this poem at 3 in the morning.

Drinking a couple Fat Tires.

Listening to Portugal the Man and Manchester Orchestra.

Bands who make words play.

Which makes them fight.

And that is why I truly believe they are the best musicians of our time.

Listen to them.

Listen to how they make word and sound make heavenly noise.

This heavenly noise we call music.

They sing out their pain.

They have stopped pretending.

And pretending is just a nicer word for lying.

And we cannot be liars.

We have to be THE WAY.

We have to be THE TRUTH.

We have to be THE LIFE.


About ananiasgo

Charles Westerman is a freelance writer, songwriter, school bus driver and murder mystery theater actor living in Portland, Oregon. He grew up on a ranch in Chugwater, Wyoming as the youngest of five kids and graduated from Washington State University with a degree in Journalism and English Lit. in May 2012. In between driving his Jr. High minions back-and-forth from school, he is currently at work writing his debut literary novel, Where Heaven Meets Cheyenne and its sequel. A two-part telling of the story of his ordinary family that came together in an extraordinary way. For the past two and half years he has worked to tell this story with honesty, excellence and honor to the characters who made it possible.

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