Saturday, 4 January 2014

Start

Broken hands that fumble with the pen,
Whose ink would flow from a broken mind.
Open, broken so such things could spill.

It's a danger,
Knowing too much.
Either you're knowledge to be silenced, or,
A knowing waiting to be set free.

The revolution hinges, not on capacity, but the willing to do. 
To use.

Revolution.

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