Out of what vortex
walks the rebel?
Is he an alien to the herd?
Perhaps he is the matter
of era's yearning
for more than what she dreamt.
Or perhaps freedoms bell
rings in the ears of torment;
a child's cry for the ceasing of relentlessness.
Is it in the eyes of the dying souls
of children ripped by words and hands?
Are these the searing voices of minds on fire?
And so it is.
For a rebel to be born
He must first be killed.
In the ashes of the aftermath
stands the warrior
new and strong.
And so stand I.
With no shield
only a sword.
Bookmarks
Share
Print
Save