To the shadow of contempt that screams my name
As if the bats of hell were released,
Turning a Eucharist to a drama.
What is it that I owe to you, why do you crave to see beauty die, stifled
A love of power, that you know not how to obtain,
Yet you still pray, when the book is in front of you.
Is five minutes worth the actions of an entire day?
Can one break a deal with them self?
Yes, the uncanny ability, and again, another paradox.
A human being, may be the only being able, to deceive the thing they love most
For self, for preservation, for fear lingers always in those that did not heed.
Masterful advice,
You shall live forever, if only you knew.
My prayers be with you.
Copyright, 2010, Christopher Baird--all rights reserved.
Contact me for reprint/posting permission.
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