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Thursday, 15 July 2010

Pointing Fingers

Do not tell me of his weakness..
I see with my own eyes..
And I ask, oh but why..
Why son, oh but why 

Yet nothing prepares..
Me for what you do..
Why point fingers and lay claim..
Only to shoulders so bright..

Why raise an arm in fist symbols..
And fight a thousand battles..
Behind closed doors, punching heavey
Winds that have done you no wrong

Only by mouth and tongue twist..
Lippsing it, with services promises..
Lippsing assertiveness like the man that 
Would take down a whole army if not held back 

Never to be seen on battle fields though..
I stood there waiting as the rest did 
I held his hands as he drew his last breath 
But you were never to be seen there 

Why shout murderess will pay...
And close your eyes with comfort ..
To sleep the night, in cashmere robes..
Shy to be seen, in the same light as thee..

Why point fingers..
I saw not you, on battle fields..
But that of the judged brethren..
Pouring his sweat and blood mixed..

With murderess dagger.. 
At night, seen in your arms ..
To stub from behind cowardly 
Those that stood in the battle fields 

Do not tell me of his weakness..
Why point fingers..
I have long knew his 
It is your shyness that worries me 
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