Tendency to lead astray
Are my compulsions to fail
My heart, which I've given
And to fold
My hand, which I've taken
Unto the random deck of absurdity
Choking on the verbosity
Of those knee-deep in rare synonyms    
Without the obscure idea of a foundation
Standing precariously on sharpened edges
With my name swathed in the blood roots
Tying the rambling Oak
To suffer in unlit ignorance of a new age.