The Poet Who Did Not Know It
A knife in the pen
Dispensing blood's inks
A shroud of mind
In each cell thinks
The sentence is endless
Each thought is perturbed
The notion of freedom
Becomes more disturbed
Fire the match to the torch to the castle
Instead use a cap, a gown, and a tassel
Such children's toys
Deserve to be broken
They are tools of destruction
Like words never spoken
Copyright © Charles Rutherford | Year Posted 2013
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