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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