My pen slithers in poetic taboo
For as it writhes, you’d think it frail
Sliding along the garden’s morning dew
Polished diamond-shine upon each scale

Writing the lines as though I rhyme in schemes
Reptilian only within my dreams

I wish that I could cry for you,
But those days have long since passed and my eyes have shed their last

I wish I wouldn't lie to you,
But from my lips it slips and from my forked tounge, venom drips

They make their cases day by day
In genetic flesh, they hide within the souls of some
They know their days will soon be done
In rancid places within their hearts of hate
they stalk their prey of ignorance dumb
When you lay your wit to sleep,
you open doors whereas they creep
Cold hearted to the will of man,
of wars and lies of blackness be
of death, of cries for stolen liberty
They stalk to propagandize
through greedy men in sweet disguise
to control and bend you to their will
Knowledge is our only hope
to them knowledge it is their hanging rope


A revision