Despite your lack of flowing diction,
You seem to know of this affliction,
Rivaling the Roman fiction,
Tassets turn to your position

"I speak a name but give a story,
One to years I've spent away,
And one for years of future glory,
The walls of dust you once beheld,
Can now give way to pastures knelled,
By death and life and grief, a meld,
Of several pieces stitched and sown,
To teach to you, memento mori"

Once-stable souls now rest on thistles,
Leaders launch their pretty missiles,
Towards dens of daggers, stones and whistles,
The name we sought now has a face,
"A waxy, shiny, formless gristle"

This place cannot commune with plague,
If held to motives ever vague,
Your scriptures lined with pictures ample,
Bereft of science, truths or samples,
Though as the saying softly goes,
Glory be to leaders trampled...

You're a killer,
You're a fake,
You're a burden,
You're my mistake

Weaving lifetimes through the frame,
Slinging numbers, tossing names,
Your shallow heart is not to blame,
But sorrow will convert your shame

Waves of flesh conform before,
The tyrant ship, now come ashore,
Cannons sprawl a liquid spore,
To castigate the nameless *****

Seeking shelter from within,
Broth of brain and shoals of skin,
Free the body from its form,
A multitude of shadows born,
To kiss your grief or blunt your scorn

And once again you crooned in your unknown speak, with a:

"Hum-diddy,
Hum-adda,
Pum-padarray!"

Knowing what words to say,
But then you walked away...

Set within your lost and found,
Is this a game?
Twists and turns and tricks abound,
Are you afraid?
Of being played?

I'm just here to tell you that you're wrong,
You're just here to fake it til' I'm gone,
There's little else to stand between,
My ailing will,
Your failing dream

Pieces lining up in rows,
Trading cards or trading blows,
The end is met by daylight's glow,
I saw the cheat,
And now I know,
Your game...

Upon approach, with facts and all,
You've brought with you a righteous haul,
In step, a dance of victory,
To spite the guilds of history

"A crucifix is ****** to fail,
If Honor's face is blue and pale",
You lie to string the vengeful gale of providence,
Along your trail

Behind your foot, a lagging force of gravity,
As if a horse, compels itself to gallivant in misery,
When no reproach is cast on he,
Who shields himself from revelry

Strike your fields with rusted scythe,
Convinced, your crops now take their life,
In what seems as though a winter fair,
Alas, your fruit is torn and bare,
Again...

Purse your lips,
I have a gift,
Open wide and savor sips,
A hurried propagation slips,
Through the gaps,
Between your hips

Describe the rhythm,
By your frown,
Moving face to face,
And down a path of absolution,
Keeping pace with dead-eyed dreams,
Forming tracks amongst contusions

Now it breathes a solemn sigh,
Merely an affront to cry,
Senselessly for all the world,
Out it shies, and "it's a girl",
Hide...

I just don't understand,
You gaze upon this fertile land and shrug,
As if to swat my hand!

I know you're feeling down,
What if we made you wear this crown to bed,
And watched you flounder like a clown!

The morning seems to call,
For ways to break your sawtooth walls,
But you'd rather build them up again,
So watch your step, you just might fall!

Beaming red and in a daze,
You seize upon what little praise,
Could crawl from such a crooked state of mind,
You dragged us all to the ground,
When trying to emerge from this haze!

Sing your tune for us tonight,
Fill the halls with awe and spite,
As you fumble all the way through this *****!

"Fiddle-dee-dum,
Riddle-me-***,
And cloud out the insufferable hum,
With dancing, prancing, loads of ***,
Perhaps it's time that I recite!"

Flick the brush,
From here to there,
Pointing species,
Dull and rare,
To hideaways and rivers' gush,
Gentle, true,
But what a rush!

Power trips the finger's pace,
Across the ever-looming face,
Of cosmic panoramas new,
Or oceans deep and verdant blue,
"To think I've found my niche",
I call amongst the stars, so very few

Strike the hammer to the world,
Imagination comes unfurled,
In pulsing rhythms, they now hurl,
At me the bulk of Heaven's churl,
"You've wasted seven days",
They chant,
"Though now it's time to paint a swirl!"

With blue, green and white, I ******
Towards a dream with little lust,
But quickly my mistake is found,
And lost throughout the artful sound,
Of clashing blades and bitter crowns

I fake a breath to earn the death,
I've sealed within this crass display,
Pressing precious feet to flames and leading men to disarray,
I fooled my hands to guide the way,
But now I simply kneel and pray,
To sculpt this world for one more day...