Occams Razor
A finger is pointed from you.
Three of them curling around
pointing write back at you making you frown.
Judgement is harder to do
than you have the ability to pounce on my noun.
My words were meant to display a real function.
Perhaps to envoke jealousy even to make you feel better.
Not a contest of wills or a joust of mere words.
Just wagging the tounge is what MOST of you do.
Thoughtless and stupid and hurting words will come true.
The Karma is inevitable and crashes and burns.
We may have meant well but both of us learned we were wrong.
Life is a melody played out like a song.
Living is harmony taken from song.
The razor edge coming around like this letter.
I have always liked the discordant sounds.
The sevenths and minor keys play a sad melody.
The razor cuts you and then rotates to cut me.
The judgements of men not of GOD.
Fussing and fighting and jealousy.
