Stolen Shards

Oh how to describe the anger, the rage I feel today
When while surfing for poetry I came across your words

As I slowly read them they became clear to me, so recognizable
For you see, those words below your by line are in fact mine

To say I am mad, seeing red is no exaggeration at all
For this crime, this theft is so deep and personal to me

I know for the rest of the world this is so hard to grasp, to
feel since after all "it's only poetry"
But writing is so critical, essential to me and to who I am

The words I write, the poems I poet are the purest essence of me
Proof and vindication of who I am, all that I will leave behind when I am gone

They are in fact the whispers of my soul, shards of my spirit
Immortal evidence of all that I was, am, and ever will be

So you see this not merely something academic and sterile
Like the emotionless term plagerism denotes, suggests

No, this is blatant robbery of the most highest kind
Bold, violent, and extreme, that so more than vicitimizes me

To think that you did it with such nonchalance, knowing that you you would likely get caught
No shread of decency or guilt, completely unabash

Yes, I so do want to confront you, face you down, eye to eye
Not just post some pathetic words on a webpage, but deal with you in the real world

Perhaps reverse the adage that the pen is mighter than the sword
But then I breathe deep, regain composure, reclaim control

Instead, I reach for the quill and the parchment, invigorated
Prepare to respond fittingly, the best way I know how ...