Thursday, October 17, 2013
Blood Of Scoundrels
You call us melters of blood, but arrest
Is the outcome of a man and woman in happiness.
You think that belief is brief and blood boils,
But the bent nature of a neck concerns me,
Men have passed on this road.
You broke me in half when the road broke
Into bits that called themselves bricks of mud.
My road is longer than the idiotic kind,
Shifting away from the beaches and forests,
Little-by-little a lesser devil stalks me,
Forgetting the prey and minding me.
The intelligent scoundrel leaps in the air,
Forcing me to destroy the innards of a man!
You call on the frame of mind we think
Is in full array, why do you consider the voice?
The voice made me what men and women believe.