Our vincible band of writers
marched unseeingly on,
as the clichés flowed like hydrants
to extinguish wintry sun.
The images donned their armbands
for the struggle to the shore,
crawled through the sands of thens and ands;
the flotsam of the jaw.
The adjectives drowned the pronouns,
yet the adverbs missed their cue,
while the metaphors fought with similes
to outwit the plain and true.
Our vincible band of wordsmiths
described, unknowingly, on,
deconstructed by our verbiage.
The war of words not won.
*my thanks to @MrLondonStreet for the tweet that prompted this poem
(and brightened an otherwise gloomy day).