FLINT OR FLESH
When a man's oppressive and too hard,
I abhor with such a man to stand.
I detest who says the final word;
then, no other word from him is heard.

Men of right and wrong, where is your heart?
It's in self respect, the kin of hate.
Where are those tears which can harshness cool?
Are they submerged by the greatness' drool?

Great is that whose heart is white like snow,
which the rays of love its anger thaw,
and transmute to water that can wash
all the sorry hearts that flint would crash.
BY JOSEPH ZENIEH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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