The Nail
What purpose are tools for, if made to kill?
The nail, the unraveled screw
The hammers hock
The bayonet for the loon
The noose lock
The secret weapon of doom
All this for the nail, and it leave behind
A massive bloody trail
And for madness it entails, that if swallowed
Leave the sick with bloody entrails
The nail, the surgical pick
The awful spike
The stave for the sick
That dreadful night
Hammered eye into with strength
The nail, the nail, what creation is this
What drove it off from hanging furniture, to keeping wound the casket
What purpose are meaningful tools
When in the hand of mischievous fools
Even something little as a nail
Can kill, with a murderous will
And death is for sale,
And it is free at the cost of a nail
About the Creator
Octovo Libra
Instagram: @libracymbaspoems
Twitter : @libracymbalspoems
And my poetry Hell Is Like A Dog Kennel and other poems
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Keep reading
More stories from Octovo Libra and writers in Poets and other communities.
A Glaring Omission
I made peace with being cast out by others pretty early in life. As lonely as it may sound, I don’t recall many times during childhood when those actions affected me any longer than a moment or two. Being deemed the weird/gay/weird gay freak by everyone from neighborhood kids to blood relatives allowed me the privilege of sneaking away whenever I pleased to dive deeper into hobbies that molded the proud pop culture geek and writer I am today.
By Jonathan Apollo3 days ago in Psyche
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.