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Argument ©

Baba
Stewarton, Scotland
2005

Slashing at my ego, you use your words like swords,
your acid tongue is lashing out and striking all the chords.
You cast up all my weaknesses to strengthen every blow,
then peck upon my carcass like some dark and evil crow.

In platitude, I offer you, some soft and yielding praises,
callously you spit them back in twisted ruthless phrases.
Stripped of flesh, my self-esteem, its brittle bones laid bare,
suck the marrow from their core, with snarling teeth you tear.

When your blood lust’s sated, we will stand there in the frost,
in the silence we are guilty of the piece of love we’ve lost.
The frost will thaw, it always does, the storm will move away,
another one will come along, from the cloudless clear blue day.



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