In birth is bred an eternal honour
For man’s trophies are burned
Into the darkest hall of a mind unknown
There on the shale edge rest them
Spirits and demons inspire fear
To indulge in a whimsical breeze
Blown through the child’s hair swept
Behind the mask of conscious deeds
We fall mute into the book of verses
Standing tall for justice, truth falls on ‘til
Born is a child of deafened folk
To consume the earth before his first breath
Appears in an autumn frost lying below the mark.
An infallible inheritance of selfless greed he knows
Where he must sew the gem cusped in his palm,
Shining brilliantly of a future in stone.
Shout, shout his way to the gods of our deeds
To provide credence to an evil white and pure
Void of guilt he turns the page to follow
The idol of his existence standing before
The infinite chasm of all done and said.
Take a bow before the ears of ignorance
Turn to the next page diligently
Written in an eloquent blind prose beyond
The hillside where madness is hidden from view
Acceptance is the only virtue of a child
Blinded by a light he does not hold
Don’t cry, just do as you’re told.
8 June, 2006 - B.L.