Thursday, September 29, 2011

Guerrilla

You can quit, strange weary thing
I call my soul, your false rebellion.
He knows you better than I know you
and he told me you are aching,
that all your blades and ready words
have turned

dull against his raging heart, a fire
that melts completely. Look around:

Your guns and shields and very clothes
are ashes blown by whispers.