A poem I wrote a while back

In spite of this or that theory
As time drags on I grow weary

Strategy is much more my cup of tea

I don’t like execution
With constant resolution

Life or death by the smallest of deeds

Each day a small battle
The sabres, they rattle

But each lacks a frontal assault

Yet it must be done
Battles fought and won

In order to win the war

Each day a fight
Not one of might

But needs a steady hand

Hold the rod
Go with God

It’s the only way


Walk uprightly


As I should.


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