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!