Words, Words, Words

As I stride towards your fortress
The mammoth metal gate slide to its place,
The stern-faced sentries adamant
A poet can't see her queen.

I'm unarmed and never a warmonger.
Out in the cold I have as the only listening ears
Crevices upon high-security walls.
Then I'd speak words through them all!

What is as radiant as poetry in full blossom,
Who can resist the luscious fruit it bears?
Words would be the nectar
That calms the flitting, fretful bees;

Words would be the rain that softens
The scowl of a thirsty, cracked earth;
Words would be the barbiturate
That tames the demons in a mad man's head.

The feisty sentries would be drawn aside,
The hefty metal gate back would slide
And then I would strut into your castle
To be the sole king rummaging your palace.