As stories go
So do souls
They wonder about,and then grow
As cold as the snow
Or as fever ant as ice
We Men are not mice
In fields of golden wheat; grain
Lost with out; insane
Forgetting all that was; ingrained
Living souls in stores
Forgetting their chores
They became the board
Life swings back and forth
Mistrust; faith is out sourced
Fleshies awaiting to be scorched
Saviors a many, but never a one
Living beneath the threat of a gun
Time just awaiting to be undone
Dear old Abe that Faithful one
His brother ascertained, then declaimed
He was Cain, not thy brother's keeper
But an evil creeper
A vine unfit to be tied
Entangled in the web which he is fried
Truly wrapped and then leather bound
Blacken and read; were these words
The Word; bled for the color of red
This fabled prince, our lord?
Three score and some
Defeated seven thousand and one
And still some will be lost
Torched along with the moss
For the fable was not Able
To save any one
A thought by Sinbad the Sailor Man
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