Prose

How now am I the victim of thine own insecurities,

Of baffling dreams and made up realities,

On paths that bend for the rich to oppress,

And the poor less suffering; what a total mess.

How now do I walk in this brightly lit night,

What a scorching beauty, showeth thus thy might.

And as we crawl while running from the destination we create,

Life will punish, oh what a daunting faith.

How now here I am in this temporary splendor,

My heart on my sleeve, brains ultimate contender.

And though your eyes roam through my soul and win,

I am the giver of thine own punishable sin.