My writing on the wall results in murder,
Murder on the horizon shuns me,
This deed is done for the prison,
Opening the faces as they murder.
These walls ask of you a lesson of kindness,
Kind men shock our helping hands.
The idols are shattered in minutes,
Offerings begin to stage rebellion,
The altar was to offer its sacrifice of blood
And flesh. I have known the reality
Onto the realities, kicking the beggars
In their fortune and in their blood.
My writing is of the graphic writers
Who wait with increased gravity.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem