Why hold he hilt of your swords as if
poised
to strike, to blow
To live in that anticipation is a faulty life

man
upon the precipice of greatness will always turn
always falter
for the hand upon the hilt holds tighter then it's counterpart feathering the treaty

The brand upon your hat shows nothing but the fact that you
man
are among the masked
shown is your ideals of what goodness is but hidden is your role
are you significant
as each man must be
or are you no man at all
are you but a child playing the only game you know?

You are a prowler nonetheless
in the corridors of someones mind you
crowd their visage with your own
you
who favors the sword to the treaty you
are one of the decisions given power
to create more
or to **** it off with a rise of your hand