Words hurt, words kill, on one hand, I’m not one for politics or religion, some words though do damage on a more personal level I suppose, sometimes I wish we were more like the people of Pontypool. Grave Vocabulary
And we all fall down
from the graduate to the class clown
What defines us, is the letters
which fair
no better when we put them together
to allow a king his crown
or any man to speak for God
Feel it coming in the air
tonight, every sin, how we are flawed
Not friend, not lover, or a victor, no noun
Enemy, fiancé, target, mutt
Neighbor. Hunter. Tribute. Ally, we’re all scared
But we shut up
when the new girl in town
wants us to believe
she’ll be the last beautiful girl, anywhere.
Please, please, please, it’s a disease
this vanity that somehow
people still ask why
hateful words are all we have to share
Do you think God is listening on high
until he can no longer grin and bear
because I’m already there
Copyright © 2017, Will A. Bradford Jr. All rights reserved
