The wisdom is held tightly,
swaddled in opinion.
The trains of though race,
with a hot coal that burns.
Burns and pounds
and the weapon's locked away.
Writhing and screaming,
but a silence counts the seconds on the clock.
Clock's that move quickly,
but slowly runs the time.
The gunpowder finds the match:
Smithereens of impressions scattered on the floor.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 8:21 AM UTC
The wisdom is held tightly,
swaddled in opinion.
The trains of though race,
with a hot coal that burns.
Burns and pounds
and the weapon's locked away.
Writhing and screaming,
but a silence counts the seconds on the clock.
Clock's that move quickly,
but slowly runs the time.
The gunpowder finds the match:
Smithereens of impressions scattered on the floor.
