A Song

All ink has acquired the same voice, 
The throat is merely a guild of mirrors 
As subtle and as vicious as mirrors 
That behold the destiny of eternal rejoice. 

My senses have been sewn to memory 
And the hearth of the open soul, 
My senses beseech to the closed soul 
That still writes for rejoices eternity. 

When we see ourselves in all life 
And test the nimbleness of evil 
And the clay backbone of good, 
We behold the salience of death. 

As all man ordained under these laws
Must retract his plea's on verse 
And laugh with the Universe
The principle of all laws…