The Pencil Said

It was…too dull

but slipping easily, fitting –

almost perfectly – into

the sharpener, it ground to


a fine point, with which


I stabbed out at the blankness

and, staining the innocence,

bled a sacrifice.


the matyrs hung, slanted,


nailed there with such care,

indignant in their grayness

arrogant with their pride –


shouted silent witness

to the strength of

what was not said.


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