War

Ink on a scroll, will boil away, so folks know not what it did say. Acidic talk by a villain cold, so that it is, all will is sold. A stink that billows across a land, carrying a cowards laboring hand. Clasping all as it will approach, scritting along as a big cockroach. Black is its birth, that billows forth. War follows a compass that has no north. Lay not with it on its pillow. Carry now all, a branch of willow. For Nikko Palmario's contest No You and Me No placement