Poetry - In Spite Of This



One drop of blood

Is more than sufficient

As a sacrifice among sinners

And pagan saints.

Purging all that is holy

Gives up more room to defy the order

And begin something new.

Those that hold the ropes

Claim they never wanted it to happen;

Foolish mortals were never quiet.

Inside of this

In spite of this

Denial of this, never that,

Under frightful eyes

With glass sharp tongues.

Revenge is a cup of warm jasmine tea, sipped slowly,

In case there was something missed.

Forget all that has been learned

And focus on what is here

For there can never be another Time.




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