color and servitude

another restless tragedy within a sleepless night
i settle for the reaction that comes from lesser heights
fear waits for the weakness I will bare
as a fallen bird reminds me not to stare
guilty days wasted on servant distractions
morning the pain of my regretful actions
burning in the fire of the last procession
as a story is written about the remains of aggression
another gift unopened by the receiver
stretched thin by the will of the true believer
I ride and filter all the dirty glory
as I repeat the words of the final story

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