What If?

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What if words are the last beautiful thing you see?
Words on a page, written by me.
Words meant to encourage, dare.
Uplifting, confusing or insighting rage.
Jump, just jump, from the page.

I’ve always had words to do my bidding, knockouts.
Syllables have feelings, use accordingly.
Beauty in words can be tricky.
For an ugly thing is not, with masterful imagery.

A thing is what I write it to be.
Bound by my imagination, to be or not be.
If in this life all I control are words on a page,
Then rage.
Uncontrollably unavoidable, beautiful, rage.

I take not with me drama from the page .
I’m a pencil pushing gangster.
I cut with words, not blades.

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