Poem 004 - The 'OR' Rhyme
Ancient talisman of lore, Made back in the days of yore, Shaped as the sacred boar, I know not what it is for, But long ago I swore, To protect it from your, Arms and hands which have tore, Away my flesh and bones now I am sore, But as you bathe in my guts and gore, On the blood soaked floor, I still high above you soar, For I still still store, In my hands the talisman of lore. But you are rotten to the core, You now tempt me with your evil whore, Her face I do adore, But she distracts me from my solemn chore. I do not wish to suffer any more. Take this foul trincket made of ore! Have you finally evened up the score? What now, what more? Have I now become a bore? Do you not wish to tempt me any more? You make your way out the door, Ending, finally, this eternal war, But than again you roar, Was this not what you were looking for? The ancient talisman of lore! I relinquished my chore, Broke the bond I swore! If not the talisman of lore, What was all this fighting for? All the fighting for, Which my blood did pour, On to the cold hard floor. We were fighting for nothing more, Than a simple trincket made of ore! Nothing more, nothing more! Written January 8th, 2002 © on Jan 08 2002 02:54 PM PST 10 • 0
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"Ancient talisman of lore,..."