An enjambment that is life

We'd always go marching steadfast into the town
with our heads held high, to mask the eternal frown
Our armors'd have cracks like the great Saharan sand
and the healing oases of love, seemed too elusive to land
But our swords were sharper than my grumpy uncle's tongue
never missing a chance to spit out some metaphorical dung
"Well, the best form of defense is offense", they'd say
We don't need either! I'd think in mental disarray
Disconcerting as it maybe, I'd comply anyway.

Why oh why, you dare to ask?
stop with the tacky metaphors, you plead?
Well, I'm sorry to say,
but the world just works that way
If we let them close we lose
they'll see our cracks
and stab our backs
they'll see our frown
and make it their crown
But you know, the savior sword
that we hold on to so tight?
It would ward them off, that's right.
Defended. Offended.
Abandoned.

"Although," said the cocky ol' lady
while browsing past this poetry
"what if you could perhaps,
maybe, possibly, conceivably,
let the cracks show
let the shots flow
take 'em
forgive 'em
win 'em
destroy 'em"

And just like that she
vanishes into the ether.. net
providing the ever so cliched THE END
to this piece of enjambment.