by fire in my eyes.
Is this the way you make me believe
in your fable convictions?
At my own peril I dug out beds for wilted flowers.
"Let them sleep!" you said.
So I obeyed your wishes, I
took them to sleep.
Who do you really hold accountable for this?
I must have worked too shallow here and there,
blooming seeds mock us in red moonlight
as I hear you chanting away
faith you used to have.
Go away and prove your innocence to someone else,
I need not know about your mundane excuses.
My judgment has struck you
like an ax felling a tree.
You have no roots.
Nothing to be put to sleep.
Image from: http://mrabanal.deviantart.com/art/Grave-121704175?q=boost%3Apopular+grave&qo=41
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