Fingers sprawled, lifeless at best,
A lopped limb or two never made a statement.
Life lost for the sake of an unknown crest:
Its remains - beneath the pavement.
Effort, a trivial thing for some,
But the only thing the \"Many\" may call their own.
Meaningless surrender, trifled blossoms -
Of hatred, down they seep.
The Oak that once birthed a legend,
Just murdered an innocent\'s dream.
Human nature compiled by scriptures and texts,
Now lie on shelves collecting dust, and titles of forgotten sects.
Those words were revered,
Indeed they served a purpose.
Unlike now, When all but absence can be displayed on the surface.
Life, Death, what moral have they ever known?
Unspeakably a mystery.
The likes of such that the next world may never be shown.
How deeply must one think
To clutch the truest quote?
Sing the name, trust in shame,
Significance has been revoked.
Messages inform sequels of what not to include.
The choice, however,
Does not belong to you.
Blackened recesses summoned through a ritual,
Where hands are taken, removed, and then granted.
One such a thing was found, within a prophet\'s humble mind:
\"If there is a verse that makes little sense,
Return at a later date, for now is not the time.\"
\"Equity demanded sacrifice.
Tragic, it was agreed:
That in order for the boy to be a man,
He must first become a King.\"