Spitfire Poem by B3k Baylon

Wasted are the words that thou speak
These ears knew only sounds that’s bleak
Though spoken with utter sincerity,
Blame not if it’s taken with enmity…

Such heart’s shrouded with apathy,
Expect not even a dropp of empathy
Drowned are the cries for absolution
Fear not the scrawny hands of desolation

However long the journey may seem…
Thou can go on even against the stream
And summon all the forces unknown
To crush down the hunger for vindication

Beneath the skin of sheer indifference
Breeds a creature full of reverence
To the Gods that brought forth this gift
A soul in pure abandon seeks to uplift

Think not, speak not the desire to perish…
There may come a time when thou shall cherish
A kindred other than this insensate being
One that’s more straightforward and willing

Thou sayeth will linger, but how long will it take?
How many roads thou dare run and trips to make?
Hope not so much, lest thou tire and Drop,
This Vagabond, runs ahead and hath withstood the traps