I am your chisel with which

You hack at those

The wooden few.

The fibrous victims.

I have the edge, you the skill.

Steel blooded and cold,

Yes that is correct,

I am the cold as steel.

I am your cold instrument.

I am your cold chisel,

Your cold calculated tool.

I am in your grip,

Right here in your palm.

Centred, controlled.

You have me in your strangle hold,

I will not struggle

I am too defeated.

I cut your victim tree,

You carve your model

I split hairs for your artistry.

©2019 Christopher Thompson

All rights reserved

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