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

lifepoliticalwarrhyme

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