Posted in POEM

A Means to An End

It hurts my brain,
When I observe,
The dealings of men.
And that our age-old truths,
Aren’t accepted by the world,

How can we be free?
When the liberties they take,
Become our bondage.
It corrupts my flesh and injures my soul.
For it seeks to destroy,
The children of my heart!

I will resist it; I will speak up.
I’m not a Prophet,
But I’m the invoker.
Because I know, that in the end,
The Avenging Angel,
Won’t tolerate it!

Public Domain 2019


A Poet's Diary - I See Life, Through My Rose Coloured Lenses.

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