For what is the call when you alone know not the reason
. . .
What were the odds the Gods would find me here?
In need of this stead to carry my bones venturing into fear
Songs left on the side of the road like a mushroom in stool
Today I ride out of the past, which I alone will find so cruel
Into battle, lead sharp, color tip spears, quill flying truth
. . .
Riding away from the past, admitting I alone be the fool
Sword against chest, I’ll do what’s best, avenging my gloom
Death confused by my bedside, for death cannot find me near
Forgotten starch, colors harsh, words fallen out of this dark hue
The toll is the cost, my lost memories of me riding out with you
. . .
Until these friends are unnamed, I shall battle ashamed invisible men
Breathe in a bud of color scented rose, for as long as words are my friends
This undefeated enemy shall go defeated, until my battle cry lye forgotten
I alone must bare my bones, for the black of non-illuminated darkness
No man, more alone than I now, no one to care or share in verbal crucifixion
. . .
Forgiving can no longer know what it can’t
As I cannot remember what was real or fiction
“The 20th Century Affliction”
