Isles stolid access tricky gold gleaning a vivacious brink
Between memories and definition cured the seamstress of reality takes my dreams and I forever leave them... a thought killed is as good as one procured
Should crows cackle and taunt the ghetto morning ablaze from nights gunfire
Or should the hummingbird speak of graces- the concern for the few and in some cases plenty flowers that spring from the spars garden beds
Sore from squandered hopes now laying in funeral pyres ablaze of little to no glory
The time teller, the black magic seeker, the unending virtue from souls set of goals afire
Greet candor and greed and satisfaction altogether
as insipid worth of need for constitutional savor the
the darkest whips of a hope lost and a story delivered by angst built of morality that continues to make pleads
Under safer morose weathers the soul of freedom grabs me and deems a future
   that faces these spoken of truths yet has a higher worth
Lawless demons and atavistic angels preen and guffaw
at all my life's worth!