[color=#000099][/color]

When deprived am i,
Like the ripe foam of the sky.
To exhibit my veil'd glowing might,
Then i think it's time for my pen to fight.


When freedom of speech,
Is hung far from my reach.
And the broad way is tight,
Then i think i'll of my right write.


When they on the seat,
Did my rights eat.
Placing me on the pinnacle of fright,
I think it time for my pen to fight.


If all those saint,
That did holiness paint.
Metamorphose their real self,
Then my right will write himself.


But,why is it so?
That wolves did lamb cloth?
Does that mean that an hermit,
Can to luxury submit?


On whom my back is ought to lean,
Did pierce me,with lovely pin.
By whom,my dust should flee,
Did to me suffering breed.


But woe be you all,
'Cos by my pen,thou will fall.
My hand is prepared to my right write.
And my pen will by heaven fight.


'Sufficit!,Sufficit!,Sufficit!'.
Drenched and tired of these deceits.
Arise now my veins,write the rights.
And cause the pen to fight.
Before the day becomes night.
C.2017