Virgil, where’s the rhyme in this one?
You’d know the stanza better than me,
bereft as I might consider
myself among this litany.
 
That I’d be so inspired,
These things of soul,
uniquely comforting
flash, for my eyes.
Their cheeks, turned away;
a sweet, bitter melody.
 
“Come before us, Brother; salvage your art, let us see. Breathe a new life into me.”
 
Is this what it’s for? The pages left on my skin?
Do they know, through the choir?
I petition their ears; listen.
 
“This great mistake; I’ve written my blade,
sharpened for all too see.
I implore you, good people
turn away on yourselves, leave your face clear of the silver tongue from whence comes
such fake self-esteem, see yourselves as meant to be .”
 
Bent and twisted
through words, til you gleam holy;
you know, this is not His scheme
and the Devil, that he would take me.
Look upon my court, and remember;
this realm rings dull without you.

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