Sometimes I think

my calling is the anger
of the generations
fierce souls crawling
for some other's desperation

we don't fear anymore
we don't cringe away from pain
we're terribly free
half hoping to be slain

My pen on the canvas
is the blood we bleed
and bleed we will
if it plants a good seed

So tear at me, pain
but my arm still moves
slashing these pages
like the beating of hooves

You thought you had me in a corner
thought I was afraid to die
Fear will never move my lips
to utter out a lie

And as I watch my blood drops
I smile, cuz I see
It plants a blossom for me
and a fire unto thee

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