Cut Without A Touch

Here is where we are
After sleepless nights
Betwixt
Midnight and dawn
A STENCH
Rising from the sanctuary
Of Death

What a situation!
Where is the rage?

Bequeathed what to posterity?
Same complaint
From the Oppressors' whips?
Same lifeless jungle
Where bodies weep?

The old swords are rusty
They are bent
Time to fight
With verbs
With nouns
And a rage
That cut without a touch

by Buxton Shippy

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