Wednesday, March 31, 2010

the strike out

encounters unsettled, like the sharpness of swords,
I'll bleed through the eyes if it comes to the end,
when the dusk of it all, finally shakes to the ground,
I'll break the encountered in an attempt to defend,

the battered tones of a conscious defeat,
and the taming of egos of a unenlightened seat,
the encountered will walk it off, with her head held high,
and I'll take it home and sleep it off, in my bed by and by.

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