Demand for Life

As the pius believers sleep,
I knew my soul would surely weep
My kin and kithe would hold an eye
Point their righteous noses high
While my pitied blunders seep.

Trumpets play sad songs for me,
My ears the channel for me to see,
Life's melody played on strained chord,
Nodes of tempests, my mirror, my sword
Are the tools of man's discovery.

A ballad, full of ironic class,
Joined by drums and strings and brass,
Call forth the tattered truth in waves
Of rage, and humility, and raves;
The orchestra stings my heart at last.

I fall to my knees and beg and pray
For mercy from judgement that day,
Of the Epicurean's drones,
Taunting and chastening my ragged tones
The desire to feel all, and every way.

This journey gave to all diverse
Gifts from the master in every verse,
The pain to realize good's been had,
And the smiles haunting the days of bad,
Reminding to all, but others' dark curse.

Without a sowing of blemished seed
Our gardens' dirt is drained; will plead
A mineral, a gift of colored plant
To topple over, and die, recant
The blood for all whom follows need.

Our masters gave us feet to fall
And voices, for not reason, call
And heads to dissect loves' passion
And hearts to offer distraction
Upon the End upon us all.

Heed my warning young life
Do not muse or judge my strife
For one day when I cripple and cry
Will know that on the day I die
I have lived to the fullest, my life.