As the defeated drink the waters of treason,
Just to still the manic trespasses of reason-
To follow roads that lead to a defensive conceit,
-To mourn no more in the prisons of shame,
Because the hours of pain have a time of day
And yet grieve for the moments taken away-
That deserve nothing but the horrors to tame,
Empowered spirits tread carefully around pain,
As through dimensions of layered names,
The courageous challenge the burning flames-
And are given permission to slay the 'inhumane.'
Such is the state of our engimatic species innate,
That as repetitive circles of love and hate grow
The blind follow the blind and the wise only know,
That only the seasons of pain build obscure fate.