Of Words Like Knives: Day Twenty-Four
Of words like knives once edged in folded steel,
Of words that pump like blood from heartís extract,
Of words that tear the night from rage revealed
Of words that wail with stolen spiritís lack.
A fountain pen that showers only pain,
In form that speaks five hundred years betray,
The leather pagesí bind these spells arcane,
To congress modern words in ancient phrase.
To cut this spoken word like fishís gut,
Its entrails spill, on Shakespeareís pike impale,
Hep C, indeed, come taste my diseased glut,
Fair reader pass beneath this heraldís veil,
Of words that wail with stolen spiritís lack,
Of words that pump like blood from heartís extract.
Unique Words: 77