I just asked a Cleve Mike
What it might just be like
To fall into a dyke
While riding a fast bike?
A Mike Mc styling,
All day gusto rising,
His showmanship pricing,
His daily cake icing
But Mike was all silence,
My question robbed of sense
Through not planned reticence;
I think A Mike's Patience
But soon from Mike "A hike!"
"Satan's own planned strike"
So, no last violence
To obvious common sense.
Words
Words are weapons
I sharpen each
To cut the flesh from your bone
To cleve the atom from the soul
Words
Words are hard and soft
They protect or protest
They shape nations
I do all the rest
Words are like hammers
Hammering home the words
We use words as blunt force
We see words as healing balms
Words
Words are like weapons
Broken in trust
Misfires in lust
Words
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