A warming world, a chilling cult apart
From Logic’s blessing; girls without rescue
And boys without recourse, resource the start
To pay their ways by selling prices true.
Reacting, acting, searching faces for cases
Of visible warmth in hopes of begging bucks
From strangers meek, or weak, to vice in laces,
Approaching rapid paces in worn out Chucks.
The doper’s veil conceals the source, like mail,
With no return, a truthful fail for real,
But gone unnoticed, now the fateful tale
Directing sail ensnared by death in deal.
Have faith in Will, for weakness kills our chance
To cure the sickness right by cut of lance.
-MMF
Commentaires