|
never call me a master
for I cannot control myself
to ask a man to lord over fate
when his heart remains unspent
in a frail shell of a body
wishing it was truly rent
sore eyes that ache to comprehend
a birthing litany not yet spent
staining the white with black
as letters appear, now on track
is it cruel to taint it thus?
to render the white impotent
so my eyes can gaze without pain
simply strange words, refrains
these words, calling out to you
make no sense, as they ever would.
|