No one asked me how I felt when all of this went down.
No, they were more concerned with the sudden blur of an image of which they had once been proud.
How could this *** of clay not come out
Like the rest?
Why was this muffin burnt in a batch otherwise perfect?
Since when every little boy and girl knew what was right, where did this lone cat stray left?
It was only him, the black sheep, that failed the test.
Like a foreign language, it was too difficult to maintain for this weak blooded creature.
If the wiseman had stayed, maybe his pain would have been less.
But he only realized how tightly he embraced his suffering when not one was around - the student, nor the teacher.
Gradually the pendulum seizes versatility on one end be it either.
Will he seize to live his villain or will he forget heaven as a preacher?
And this moment realized is really the only moment.
When only subconscious acts can live.
A man becomes he who he really is when the doors are shut and the curtains pulled.
As the pressures continues a steep incline the man sees himself just a little boy, shook.
No longer do his belongings matter, no longer is he the subject of woo.
Does the blood continue to flow valiantly when the naked body seeks final retribution?
I surrender to my own actions and face each one with a humble look.
My eyes are quivering but I have been instructed to trust the truth.  Or what I know to be this.