I shall watch them all fall.

My spire has no guardian.
My soul no judgement.

Glory is a peak to crumble.

A poison seed is furtive in neglected soil.

From scorched earth it emerges with the aroma of cunning veracity.

But no truth will grow.

They tell you, write it with emotion.
Write it like it’s a history you’ve seen -
Describe it in burning colors,
Making a tragedy of things unseen.

But then they criticize you, tell you
It’s too graphic - that there’s no way
That was your personal war.
They’d rather look away,
Than acknowledge that it was your everyday.

yes, words
have power

but only
as much
power

as you
give unto
them