These are the words written in anger;
The expression of
unanswered need,
The drawing in
and cutting out;
The scream of
ink a greed.
These are the times of close isolation;
A madness of
misunderstanding,
A call to arms to
search in my barrel
And hoist out a
heart too demanding.
Once and never again, the point was lost -
A gambling of
cannon shot,
Tore out the
thread.
Things burned
too hot;
Quickened and
destructive,
Or quiet and
building;
To which evil should I be yielding?
Copyright © Jason
Horsler
06/10/96
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