Tools of the Trade
an anarchist's bomb.
a sword's edge. tools of little
men seeking revenge
on a world they can't forfend,
nor in their fear, comprehend.
stranger, walk with me.
feel my fear. drink agony
from my blindness
as i run from the kindness
of apple blossoms in spring
avert your eyes as
i pass. your smile strikes at my
weakness. my knees cave
as i dig my grave, a slave
to my blindness, fear my glaive.
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