Brothers and sisters raise your pencils!



when I am broken down and wounded
I go to my hiding place . . .

In outer space, my resting place
that provides me protection

. . . encouraged by angels
. . . I lay my burdens down


deep in my spirit
the angels gives me strength

Healed and ready
I raise my sword to fight again . . .


Out on the battlefield
I raise my sword of faith

The pen is my sharpened sword
and the paper is my shield

. . . and I am never going to give up
even when I lose my last drop of blood

I know, there is still hope . . .




Poetry by Dan Cederholm
Read 642 times
Written on 2006-12-06 at 22:49

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Christoffer Waye
Very good, you kan almost feel the fight and the adrenalin of striking a heartfelt blow with your sharpened sword :D
great text Dan

Language: 5
Format: 4
Mood: 5
Overall: 5
2006-12-07