The old trees no nothing of murder,
the grass yearns of innocence.
i purge myself to in this gaze,
i am alone at all costs.
The demons laugh at my back,
they dare me to join with them,
the taunt and ask me to conform.
i ponder of my fate.
The tree weep of observation.
the grass is corrupted from experience.
the demons continue their beckoning.
i close my eyes and yearn,
for the dream to be over.
just then i am shunned by,
a teacher of serenity.
the old man knows of the wise tongue.
the demons hiss at his vengeance.
they fear him in all respects of the word.
his name is truth.
I am consumed with this new profound power,
i am but one of the chosen few,
i laugh at the demons now.
they have no control over me.
i seek repent for their insolence
ha! i remain the keeper of strengths.
as the wise man departs,
i bow in all of his respects.
with all that has proceeded,
i will always remember that,
of the day i challenge the path,
of the chosen sum.
