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Sunday, November 18, 2012

not widsom and lore


Don't think words
Fall ´to a void.
They are heard,
First by one,
Then a second,
Then a third.

Paper and pen
Have struck down
The worst of men.
Not scoundrels mere,
But men of war,
Agents of death,
Merchants of fear.
Men who take
The good of tomorrow,
For whom  
Truths are lies,
Pain a prize,
And all history past,
A game of sorrow.

When we have
Great honor again,
In action,
Not wisdom and lore, 
Then only, such men
Will be no more.