The Victim No More

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Just a little bitty I did in five minutes

Submitted: November 08, 2017

A A A | A A A

Submitted: November 08, 2017



One stands on temple sways.

Many confound by answers through many days.

The fight is challenged within.

The door is always open with nothing to come in.

What is through this lesser fight?

Honor the silence that screams out the right.

The victim becomes the master in way.

Freedom is answered in infinite pain.

The jester laughs at the routine no more.

The castle is black through the open door.

Reside nothing now, my honor is burned through the dim that holds fist high now.

Where are the voices if the voices are not answered through the crowd?

The sway holds black upon this day as you give your life to sway the stage.

Sitting upon the will so high.

Manner of truth is blind by said voices that carry it around.

Stretch the nail as you die.

Long for a breath, being squeezed out of the rest that claim to hold no voice, no reason, no sound, no bound.

The day is nice but is there that is nice in all?

Confounded within thyself as they stand tall over the wall that is touched none other than sway.

Where the channels cross is where the signal of individuality is lost.

Nothing is more in this fray.

People most are lost upon many days.

The mask are many in this dismay.

The carpet is thrown over the dirt as all carry on this way.

Where is the right for which we stay this way?

© Copyright 2018 Adam Steele. All rights reserved.