A militant mind in a peaceful place,
It is a pity to waste such a scene.
With such a chaotic haste,
Watching the silence,
Hearing the still,
Knowing I was meant to kill.
My hand hurting,
Heart yearning
I lay my head to my chest.
I pray to god, so far above
‘Please give me some rest.”
Begging, pleading, I do not feel a change.
But I’m sure there is something he can arrange.
Pulpit seat bruising, I leave
Covered in painful sweat,
I walk in the cold,
Lighting my cigarette.
Dcid Corvid 