[dropcap]T[/dropcap]o him of whom the Tyrant’s rage
Is music from a stage
To him of whom the utility of evil
Is but a defining necessary tool
To him of whom the cries of affliction
Are a pleasurable sing-song not of attrition
To him of whom the fangs of death advancing
Are but brickbats and baits edifying
To him whose pleasure
Is the Tyrant’s measure
A day comes
The defying day of scorns
The day of scorching retribution
Of seeds sown and harvests’ affliction
When the Tyrant’s might and bite and height
Pale by pail in crates of heightened hate
That smack the snags that slack the slingshot
Boom
Doom
Gloom
Not bloom.
When that day comes…
[AUDIO] FRIEND OF THE TYRANT
Posted by Oraye St. Franklyn on Saturday, 16 January 2016
(c) Oraye St. Franklyn
January 16, 2016
8:15am
