Maim The Dead

Feathered pens dipped in venom's ink, Figures tarnished for the damned to think. From sanctifying to dehumanising, They sway, and think this is thriving. Where truths and promises once grew, Now eroded of the deepest blue. Under the gaze of a foreign eye, Now shut to keep me a blatant lie. Maim these figures who spilled ink for life, Maim the ones who swept the ink with their knife. Name these who claim their cohesive beliefs, Tame the ones who harness the power of grief. Let my legacy be torn, but never worn. Let my enemies be formed, but never adored. Grasp the bruise of your losses, But never lapse through the time of your success.