Best Canonized Poems

You stare as if you know
how my blood runs through my veins.

What wood are you?
Did you not come from a clan
of massacred trees
chiseled by an inglorious machete?

Were you the door that barred
the perils to our house?
Did you block the brutal sun from getting in?

Who carved...

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I'd rather have piteous hands
Than blood stained ones
It may be a dismal conception
But through that threshold stands
No turning point in either direction.

The piteous are often the poor
While blood stained will throttle for more.
It's a dismal world upon reflection
So heaven's conception was to soften the poor
But...

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