Ripe-(Cold Cash)

A crime without victims, no pain would befall
Ripe for the taking, by those with such gaul

No voices to cry out, an alarm never cast
Peace not eternal, rest that won't last

Yet vengeance will triumph, be it mighty or meek
The fire of truth burns, for those who don't speak

Ablaze in the wicked, a chard blackened soul
Is all that remains, and will forever be cold

by J. Edward Armstrong

Comments (1)

just grate. 4 grate lines. from a grate poet. 'write on'