My Truce

Without trying to become 
an avenger, 
you were trying to find the― 
joy of primitive faith. 

The dignity of terror has 
to be modified. 
You were now afraid of― 
yourself in the crowd. 

This thing had a dark tone, when 
you cross the street. 
Underneath, the seed vessels of 
past pain, were ready to split open. 

The bandits wait on the line 
of control. The shock 
comes out in open. Society is 
generous, accepts your blood.