In a web of polyester,
Strung across brick branches,
We struggled to our death,
How did we forget our companions?
And deny our protectors?
The little ones are life,
And the simple are sweet,
My bones cry out in condemnation,
Of the many who blindly blundered before me,
Their stickiness surrounds me,
Their sins remain to bind me,
A path weaving on the cliff edge of fire,
I long for my prelude to finish,
And this frail beginning to blossom into all I will become,
Tedious is time,
And I almost envy the evanescent babes,
But for my Glory,
I would have no strength
Fear flees and to me comes joy with peacock feathers,
Living is color,
And I am brightest green