primitive minds of infatuation
casualties of endless confusion
occurrence of ironic situation
beheads the necessity for reason
claiming what is yet to hold
believing what is yet to be told
conjuring forbidden ways of the old
speaking in tongues whenever they’re scold
should one attempt to sunder
their warmth despite of winter
will receive the coldest shoulder
for they will not surrender
a premature flower, a helpless bud
running and hiding from all their gods
a fearless battle against all odds
and in the end they’ll drip their blood.
-jrdg
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