Between the lines and faded pages
I tried to read blurred words
Of all the now forgotten sages
And for what their portent girds

A chapter for the innocent
And the simply reasoned pact
Written ironclad as their covenant
Sold as 'it is written' fact

A long passage spoke of virtue
As if it's for the choosing
A uniformly clannish stew
For which there's no refusing

A word of love made up a phrase
That warmed my lonely heart
I'll carry it for all my days
As an imperfect art

A sentence then did run on
It seemed to not abate
A web that it was spun on
Was made from wanton hate

The epilogue was too unclear
For resolve did I then *****
If just to ease my troubled fear
To find a word of hope