The Torch

We must abolish a twisted history
There's too much done and not nearly enough achieved
Through broken, stiffened arrows, the aroma of meek severed teeth
Bound in clench fist and predestined remembrance
Better clear those cobwebs from your throat
And revive yourself in cough
When choking is the only sure shot
Into redemption
The typewriter marks an anniversary of sorts
Of a rift in guided time, stark contrast of a world both unseen
And in our deepest, cluttered ideals
The worst of two alleviate the stench of you
What a crime left unbuttered
Serving better the toast of betrayal
Than my assist in another grievance
Keen as in my passage made west
No dead-end roads narrow scare me away
To arise the fallen sympathy
Boxcar in open fashion
Drape the hooligan thereafter