Sometimes swords are more necessary than the words we bat around so effortlessly.
Like they mean anything but the half-expressed sorrows of a dying soul.
We cling to ink on paper as if it will save us.
When in the end, fire consumes and ash is the final product of our empire of words.
Blood shed is one of the few things that can truly change the ebbing of humanity.
Peace stifles, talking stagnates, writing clutters, poems thin the ever waning lifeblood of humans.
Nothing of value was ever weaned from the bosom of stability.
Pacification served no purpose save that of a pacifier.
Manhood is so unseemly when a woman takes up it's banner.
Almost as bad as the man who left it long ago.
Those that care more for the creatures than the souls that consume them.
Lose their bodies and minds to become the same kind.
When the arms of good men are bound as per law.
The law applies to naught but good men.
Faith has become a crutch to a crippled dominion.
The stick in the armpit feels so comfortable now.
We paint our faces no longer for war or for dancing.
Alternate faces put on for show are masks that cripple when removed.
Falling is now an accepted fate.
