Impervious to the oscillating fans of time
It ran into all man made obstacles
The question burned on the final cross
“Were you the real master all this time?”
Until I staked it with the sword of progress
Soon enough, we turned into rats
A sense of humor was well written
Into the natural order of all things
But I still had to pick off dead skins
From my head onto the winds
Leading me to self-deprecate
I wondered, what was the point?
Grasping at that marage of me
Burning homework in fifth grade
Pillars of bright fuzzy bliss
Surrounded the flames around
I climbed and I climbed up one
Until I reached a pulsating hue
I touched it and the bell rang
I looked down to see superiors
Laughing, for I had to fall down
Then, I felt the rope burn