Monday, February 23, 2015

The Attack

Your artwork still hangs on my walls
your thoughts and words still ring in my ears
we once held hands
and shared our fears

It would've been one thing
if you had turned your back
but instead you advanced
ready to attack

You drew your weapons
your rifle, your gun
you fired your lies
and the war had begun

Now we're lost on a battlefield
separated by our names
my prayers are a battle cry
hoping to end your games

I await your final blow
a knife in my back
as you're shepherded by the blind
to hide the truths that you lack

(Written 2.3.15)

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