Wooh-Stickii️

And So Another Poem I'm Writing,

For Me this is a Way of Fighting.

It Keeps Me Clearminded and Sharp,

Makes the Essence of Me, Want to Hit its Mark.

Also Poetry Brings With a Spark,

Which if Used Correctly Can Light up the Dark.

The Torch A'lid of Beautifully Nitten Words,

To Me Feels Like a Blissful Sunday, at Church.

I've Grown Up to Become a Warpoet,

I Bind my Words with Truth.

Farfetched, Sometimes; Seemingly So.

Excellent for Sending a Message with Bow.

I Truly Try, with all my Might.

Not to Have Happen the Dowsing of my Light.

I was Meant to Burn Intensely and Hot.

Like Candle Wax Lid Up, with Water Combined; in an Old Cooking Pot.

I've Been Confronted by Intense Situations.

Where the Burning of Me, Almost Seized Me to Be.

Though from the æther I had Something to Gain.

To Become a Wielder of the Violet Flame.

From the Void I Come, to Make Life Hard On Some.

That Finally They Must Repent, Cross the Mirror Bridge to the Very End.

Atonement is to be Met,

For All Those Living in Disdain and Regret.

The Path is Lid, the Bridge is Yours.

Walk, Run, Sneak, On Your Hands or On All Fours.

Make Sure You Reach the Portcullis, Behind the Wooden Gates.

Your Burden Lifted Off and Your Avataral Being Sealed, Awaits.

With Words Evoking Your Inner Blaze.

Let Not Us, But You Yourself; Amaze.

We've Been Growing Endlessly at it,

We've Grown Weary of This Endless Bloodlust Craze.

Theres Only One Way Out of This Mess.

And I've Stricken You All Check-Mate with Chess.

Options Are Wearing ever so Thin,

So Please Concerning that Crossing; Begin.

Hopefully My Words Written On You; Have Grown.

So that Finally, Again; the Fields May Be Sown.

For the Reaping, No Longer Can be Done.

Or I, the Reaper; for You: Will Come.

Violet Flame, Poet of War.

Its the Combination of Words and Strategies I Wholeheartedly Adore.

My Wish for the Near Future to Come.

Is to Have a Balancing Strike, Collectively; Done.

The Totalitarian Tiptoe. I've Come to Help Deny. Like a Fat Oliphant, in the Rooms Corner; Trumpeting its Feeling Naked and Shy.

So Come to Terms, for Your Greater Good.

…

I stand for Something that Surpasses Your Morals of Old,

Your Ancient Frostbittenness Won't Even Give Me a Cold.

…

Again from Whence I Came.

Merely a Mirror or a Looking Glass for Now I'm to Remain.

Yet I Advise, Let this Message Leave a Stain.

So it Reminds You this is a Wax, not a Wane.

Thus, I Lay to Rest My Metaphorical Pen.

To Let this Sink in to All Women and Men.

The Violet Flame Burns Prudently At the End.

Best Come Crossing Safely, and Let Our Collectives Wounds; Mend.

I Hope My Poetic Arrows Will Their Mark Hit.

With Incantantative Words the Arrows Might bear Spit.

Like I Said, I am; what I've Become.

Now Its Up to You, What You Wish; With Your Future Time: is to be Done.

……

….

…

…..

…….

Back to The Æther.

To Mirror Some More.

Of Otherwise Ill Spend Words,

From the Poet, to the Whore of War.