Let Our Hearts Sing Out Without Restraint

To Write is To War

Lead sentinels stab and mutilate the pure celestial priests.

These priests bleed black and grey.

Declarations of war are carved forcefully onto their ivory skin.

The priests do not quit fighting.

Virtuous and true, they ward off the attacks.

The sentinels, flustered, flee.

The sentinels come back with an undying vengeance.

Ink-ed warriors penetrate the paper with eternal venom.

Now sullied, the paper submits to the evil that is creativity.

And the priests now turn to marked devils.

Their skins now black and red.

Language with hidden agendas plague them.

Sorcery of the tongue condemn them to a literary hell.

Creativity is man's way of justifying violence.

Writing is the trophy of our sins.