Have I not made myself clear?
Because each day the slate I write upon seems wiped clean
And my words read by your eyes have fallen to the same fate
I am brought to my knees once again, legs battered and weaker than before
Weakened furthermore by your considering  my voice unworthy of being graced with your hearing

This cycle is far from clear and circular
For your words cut through the curves taking the line elsewhere
Creating a maze of countless spirals forced by feigned confusion and diversion of ill intent
You have loyalty to your commander and keep disguises already known in play
Believing your presence proves fidelity and earns trust

But I am not lost in this web of manipulation
Just disoriented in your maps of honor and intention
But My hands still bear the route i follow
The lines compasses leading me honestly back on course
While the map you bear is no more than unreadable markings that you claim direction

Once the lines  alike mine were visible
But with constant trampling and pressing of fingers
All that is left is a dark mound
Corpses of lifelines  that are no longer followed
Yet still you spend time making pictures out of linear denial

But I see reality, despite your claims of my insanity
You hold nothing but ruins
But continue to stare and declare its superiority
fingers alone cannot rebuild your kingdom
The decay grows and your roads to heavenly future diminish