Cliches, such things worn out with careless use
Small razor blades now stained and dull with rust
Always old news, threads of a shrinking noose
These tasteless words the wisest fools do trust
And use to convey stale souls phantom glow
The human rage to keep our beings sure
Disturbance of still water, poets know
Compels sweet rebels with the constant lure
Of spirits free, possessing boastful life
Defying predetermined fate as nought
To seize the dawning day sans dread of strife
And win the battle, valiantly fought
We plead with wills to sprout wings, to soar
A simple contradiction, evermore