A Few Made-up Lines
If an acidic raindrop can tardily enter a leaf
Like wine crawling up a man's sobriety
Then my words could roll thrice per mo
Like a tide musing upon the shore
If I could take my gaze off this melancholic block
Bury it somewhere along the road
Away from all the evil that feeds on my soul
Then I could finally enter that rest
But it's not dead yet, my love for this show
The make of which lies within my bosom
For this reason I seek to lay up in arms
To fight for that which my heart has sought
Upon the rise of impunity besought
Let thee, a tender rain begin to drop
And the pen in my hand begin to note
A melody as it oozes out of this miniature notch
If not the sun desires to wake
Let it be of the night to hate
And its belly of depravity pronounce it dead
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