Wednesday, October 18, 2006


With a brush of the hand
He wipes the blood off his face
It just leaves behind more sweat and grime instead
With vigour anew he rises
He stumbles but rises again
Once more for all those that he has bled
The principles, the people
His barricaded self, the ultimate steeple

Again he rises
He cares nought of another fall
He'll fight to the end
Till he has ended it all

Again he rises.


Post a Comment


neverknown © 2008. Chaotic Soul :: Converted by Randomness