~Tao of thought~
The paper burns so the words may fly free,
The rhythm rolls so the rhyme may always be.
The poet know which would were made to use,
While yet my mind is still full of only abuse.
The pen glides so the ink and paper become one,
The days go by as the night never knows the sun.
The earth is dying as the company’s line their pockets,
Instead of making war maybe would should make space rockets.
A story is told but who takes the time to hear it,
Take the time to listen and maybe we all won’t have to forget living.
My words ride on lightning as my hand quickens the keys,
The Tao goes on as only life sends me her dreams.
Inkmaster
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