the older i get
the more i want to say
and theres
a rebellion
rising inside

what if all these lives
were just lies
carefully constructed and
buried beneath more than snow
waiting  for a vision of spring

staring out the window
lost in the alchemy of
women, words wagered
a waning moon and a warning
till there’s little left
to do
but kill the black

it’s not a matter of
how, when or
why, so

walk on stranger
and forget to sleep
resist the claim
of the night lands
because theres a list
that feels unique
and unfinished

crafted, we’re like
stone tools
simple and inefficient
heroes that never give up
or give in
but simply
go on





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