The hatred in me commands my intensity.
I cannot be truthful in lies.
One refuses to right the horrid wrongs,
they are not my account to withdraw.
Look before you crawl,
your nature knows it all.
To write in simple blood of verse,
I would know that I would fall.
It's sad beyond belief,
that I cannot find relief,
judgment points down to my feet,
in this I've found defeat.
I rise with a mighty call.
The lore of the angel maul.
Each word is taken tall,
instead of seeing the shawl.
It cloaks my complications,
with no manipulations.
A multiple display,
of whom I choose to play,
on any given day.
K.A.P.
6/1/2009
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