Oh dearest Father may you heed my wandering mind,
As I speak to thy of thee restless words unwind,
For such treacherous creatures thee'st are upon thee mind,
Shall share'st such thoughts maybe deemed unkind.
Dear Father, friendship and kin, for must I question thee,
Of thy'st purpose and facades are such ideals to me,
For be'st kin may be a chess game of facading goals,
To tactically position thyself into favourable roles,
For whom shall I call'st friend, oh so truthfully now?
For what makes of trust for shall my seekforth it how?
As a greatsome tree may take but years to grow,
But fall'st to'st t'midst of th'open land as thy lumberman a'go,
So shall trust be, for can we accept such facade now not,
But let'st it foster and accumulate the course it sought,
For Father, why'st we be but such a hideous race,
That conjures such mistrust and hatred that'st thy face,
For neither I nor you nor any beings with souls a'near,
Can truthfully understand each other as thy'st all a'here,
Yet, put'st thee facade of what may seem to be,
And live'st not the life of mighty walls-free.
For Father, I do hope that such one day will come,
Where the facades of being fall crumbling when all'st done,
And for then may hideous and hideous come to know,
That tis world indeed exists genuine goodness so,
For then may we all bath in the gallant light,
And flee'st the facades that'st bound us tight.