The wrath creates a burden
Leaving a sullen face of vengeance
Despite the willingness to unite
The hand grenade gets its freelance.
The heart still beats
With a fear of being stabbed
And people still exist
Paying tax to the vindictive lord.
Faith still crave
For the dream like state
But what we get
Is just a moral obstinate.
The decisions are made
You are to die
But how you live defines
What you leave for others to ply.
How the mortal existence
Gets a little high
Maybe with or without
The bulge of the blue sky.
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