She’s more or less outside her head,
and wishing to begin.
The pain she’s in, consists of dread,
and terrors, drilled within.
At times, she wakes, to find her place, is filled with mortal sin,
and days she’s lived, between these days, leave wake of soul’s rescind.
Its not enough, to know of hell’s, capricious counter spell;
for in these days, her soul will smell, this wreaking dread’s cartel.
These daemons then, that fill her plate, displace the best of her’s,
and on this path of living death, conspire to teach their verse.
They tell of dreams, she has not known, not her’s, in any sense;
insisting that she’d seen these things, and knew of birth, from whence.
Debates ensue, from times she knew, her heaven’s scent condensed.
The faith of love, was held above; the other was incensed.
Violent factions, cultures deem, bent, unto this offense,
but hidden from this truth, she tells, we are, ourselves, against.
And truth be told, we all are sold, to lean on side of fence;
our choices made, are cards we played, and some to our expense.
The wisdom that we seek, we should know to be of truths,
but when the truths are made to lie, the dread is thus induced.
And, when our dreams are shown of us,
to be of selfish lust,
the lady prays, to find in us, the will to
keep us, just.
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