Cut Without A Touch Poem by Buxton Shippy
Cut Without A Touch
Here is where we are
After sleepless nights
Betwixt
Midnight and dawn
A STENCH
Rising from the sanctuary
Of Death
What a situation!
Where is the rage?
Bequeathed what to posterity?
Same complaint
From the Oppressors' whips?
Same lifeless jungle
Where bodies weep?
The old swords are rusty
They are bent
Time to fight
With verbs
With nouns
And a rage
That cut without a touch
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 5:23:39 PM # 1.0.0.1119
