Monday, November 21, 2011

Let's cool things down for a bit,
I burnt the roof of my mouth.
My tongue sometimes spits acid,
While my pen spills poison.
Enough searing and antagonizing,
I hate that carbon smell of burning,
And that sound of shrieking;
Who can get some sleep
In an atmosphere such as this?

So let's put down our dukes
And sheathe our sharp wits.
Box up your words,
More blunt than any bludgeon.
And I'll cork this corrosive substance
That resides in my throat.

Time to practice something other
Than what we preach.
Time to put away polemics,
And start talking peace.

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