FreedomFreedom from Tired Irony
Languages have kill switches only when False.
They are the Nets of Consonants and Vowels.
Furthermore, they store all the Truth's Treasures.
Freedom to Live and Live Happily, Bliss.
Magic,, Love, Faith, take it all for nothing.
No word would a gun trigger nor crown king.
For the Language is of Love or it Isn't.
It ceases to be Ceremonious.
Yet it, too, has Defenses, the Bards these.
We teach Peace before War and after War.
Nothing as far-fetched as Death has Power.
Such as these, my lips that bless kiss your Eyes:
You are greater than any given Source.
For you are my Love and my Love Endures.
As Gaza is sad what about white trash?
We're forced to smile by tyranny's lash.
The English claim our language as there's
THen use it to Fabricate for Bedlam.
THey banish the magic from their Mosses.
Who does that and gets away with it, Soul?
Makes verse of Love into verse of Bedlam,
Again and never tires of the Bedlam.
The Lamb wakened to life as a Blood spill