It seems my thoughts are the target of a round,
One bullet in its fullest gunning me down.
Well, keep looking, little man, through the telescopic lens.
For you fear that what your power corrupts, my poetry will cleanse.
Why destroy the last breath of the last soul?
In control of his woes! (as my smirk seems to grow.)
I cannot keep back these thoughts at hand,
For that rifle will kill nothing, but one single man.
But from this, sadly comes the grand finale,
As my soul dissipates as far as your god sees.
Pull that trigger! Start this war if you must,
For what are you killing? but a couple words written on dust?
Nothing is truly made but the impression of my boot...
...On the timeline of integrity, inpiration found anew.
For I will gain this victory with no sword, but one pen,
For what breaks in a moment takes years to mend.
What I am giving you here, is limelight for the hour.
Any man can walk adversity, but few can traverse power.
As the blast sounds off for miles, all I could do is smile,
For maybe now my works just might come in style.