Fear the maker
Not the
Beg the potter
Not the clay

Do not be scared of the dog
But be wary of its master
The predator preys on the weak
While the hunter lurks in the shadows

The grumbling of a thousand people
Swallows the yelling of a lone man
The roar of a lion in the jungle
Overshadows all other voices

Swallow your pride
Shove it down your throat
Hear the blacksmith's hammering
Witness a broken heart being reforged

You'll need a surgical knife
To cut open this poem of mine
A thick rope would be needed
To drag out its meaning

Tie a noose around its neck,
Torture it however you like
But do not feed it to the dogs
Lest its essence be buried like bones

Do not go near the sea
The pirates might plunder you
I do not want my poem buried alive
My poem is a treasure for all

Bring those whiskies
Fill my cup with them
As I build worlds
With my writer's blocks