In my hands a pointed sword I carry
To slice the heads I find untrue;
But Alas, in vain I tarry,
For my quick sword slits
My limbs, too.
I cannot mark others red
With this fatal blade of judgment–
Cannot sever lying lips
Or carve away dreadful deeds
Of those I hold in contempt,
Without tending to my own
Bleeding hands and knees.
Justice marks me lame with wounds
I cannot cure if my pointed sword I use.
No comments:
Post a Comment