In this court of thorns and roses,
There are immense threats that life poses.
However, through this endeavour,
They spar to undertake and sever.

They, the ingenuous wonder who 'they' are,
They are the spirits and psyche that haul you afar,
They are the facets that stow you awaken,
And the vital force that fore you of the forsaken.

But, though you are stirred,
Which is everything except the eerie wind,
You still don't possess the viciousness to brawl,
Or to discern the phenomena that enable the pneumatic to at least sprawl.

Sprawl, let solitary, its hard enough for you,
As an intellect, to understand, to *****,
All the thoughts and doubts you wish to abandon,
Until by the stupor you understand, that they who you wished to envisage were the omnipotent and his drudges that are abounded.