Poem 1

The brain has outworn the head

The feet have outworn the path

Truly, the inside is dead

The one casualty from your warpath

Sticks and stones crumble

Trees quiver and shake

All the forest bows down humbled

Once caught in your wake

I refused to bow my head

I stood brave and prepared

Ready to embrace death

I was the one who dared

Refuse your authority

Refuse your intimidation

Alone in the minority

Stuck in stagnation

My feet were glued to the path I had chosen

No steps forward

Terrified, my extremities were frozen

You prepared to strike me with your sword

The force came down between my shoulder and neck

The warmth of blood comforted me, yet

I was dying at your feet

You refused to retreat

“Your inside matches your outside.”

You watched as I died.

 

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