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A Tongue No Longer Used

My thoughts crawl to paper
My heart the pen I hold
My tongue is but a rapier
But my ink my very soul
So I hold back my fowl tongue
And write instead my tears
Without a sound air escapes my lungs
For I have learned from years
Though sharp I can be I shall not
No glory in death be had
Instead I shall hold fast my lot
And make my place in life less sad
For when your life is made to kill
Your life cannot be true
For when it's others blood you spill
Their life spills unto you
No longer yourself but an empty shell
A place where you once lived
This place now your living hell
The happiness taken with the shiv.

poem by John Dillenger II
Added by Poetry Lover
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