Friday, December 07, 2012

Forged Wit

Rests on my sharpened tongue begging to strike
 Slashes their minds throat drowning their hearts cries
 Thrusts into the sheep's sub-conscious night

 A pen writing a declaration of war
 A gavel sealing their fate stamped in their blood
 A wrist watch frozen in 1945
 Fate is not reality

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