Wooden Swords
"Why do you rebel?"
Asked the artist of the bruise
"Your head is sick, your heart faint
Your skin is slick with wounds"
Yet in the same breath
"I do not delight in lambs' blood"
Yet he likens kin to lambs
And killed both in the flood
But "thou shalt not kill"
Declares he who killed the most
"My sword devours 'til sated"
Saith the Lord of Hosts
"For I am sorry
About all of your punishments"
There's no forgiveness in me
My lord, I'm far beyond spent
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