More Of It.

More of it, please, I'll buy it.
I'm neither an artist nor a fool
Nor a lady whose eyes sigh it
I'm just a laborer needs a tool.
I'll make of it a tender instrument,
A guidance book for lost, broken souls,
A treatise on love's lonesome lament,
A hiding place that shelters and covers
All scars that love seekers duly regret
But win with hard toil, true blood and honors.
More of it, please, I'll gladly share it
With the insane, the wise and the bold.
The stories that were never told
And the words that were never heard
Can be sung now in the court of old,
In the arena of freedom, of lost blood.
More of it, please, and I'll be gone
Before the tide of wrath spoils the fun.

by Driss Ezzireg

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