Force

There's nothin' left to writ; it's all bin rot - ten away for so long that it would be scratchin' a stick in the dirt to make shapes of this shit.

Words count pecious little,
in the process of change, history.
Brute force continues to play,
the role of the dominatrix.
Thoughts count for even less,
vanishing even while they form.
Even if the pen be mightier than the sword,
and people remember words longer,
still...
a sword's a sword,
and a pen is just a stick full of ink,
and a thought,
unarticulated
is nothing...