Head Unbowed, Quill Unbroken

From the very day we were born

Grabbed literary bull by the horn

Wrestling him into submission

…..

Each choreographed step a melee brutally fought

Always scribbling, praying victory could be bought

Despite that was perhaps a mere pretension

…..

A cape of crimson ink-splattered silk

We wave in the face of rejection and the ilk

Stepping aside at last possible moment

…

As goring weapons of criticism tear past

Dodging - prowess unmatched, reflexes too fast

No peaceful resolution our words foment

…..

Across blood drenched sands of rejection we prance

Lacerated, weary - yet to our own tempo we dance

Unflagging, undaunted - pace set by societal drumbeat

…..

Though often presented with severed head in a sack

Every enemy we confront with rhetoric, all beaten back

No matter how dispirited, we shall remain upbeat

…..

Dancing through life fighting for adulation

Refusing always to acquiesce capitulation

As we shall until battle’s end - our quills unbowed

…..

For we hang on, sparring with ideas deadly, tenacious

Refusing to set aside pen, our struggle ostentatious

Our sole reward the cheers or hisses of the crowd

…..

With but a pen as sword

Shredded paper as a shield

We valiantly charge up this hill

Ever refusing to yield

Through decades our fight rages until by cataracts blind

Until Life’s insurmountable mountain be climbed

Finally stepping out from behind our paper wall

Then on that sad fateful day we shall lay down pen

After which we shall feast in that vast writerly hall

…..

Though we perhaps never match the giants …

Dickens, Tolstoy, Burroughs, Twain, Austen, and others

In Authors Hall we shall lift a tankard in honor of you all

Celebrating amidst our valiant literary forefathers and mothers

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