Blade For Thought
With the blade of thought
the falcon wounds the wind
Doves scatter like blood drops
Every precious thing our minds touch
lose their whiteness, their purity, there is-ness
at least ax-less
only love’s silken gloves
can touch the cages we have made
and from distance, feed the mouth of freedom
that no longer needs to fly away to eat in peace
the mind is a dangerous chasm
that holds the world hostage
for its own bloody needs
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