the prose in your plea

through a looking glass is:
resolve staring back-like
clarity & crystal — clear & then not.

resolve is like the motives you bought.

spinning & winding through in & out
like veins of fear-soiled faith tainting the air...
these pieces of puzzles like the journeys we wear.

your resolve is as strong as the faith that you doubt
& you must know somehow that you're playing devout.

you've known for some time
'bout the disease that you've caught
& you've not said a word,
but i see that you can't be the same.

listen just to the rhyme
& to what you know 'bout the beautiful shame.

reality & resolve are just the same word
echoing back like beat after blow
of the steps that you tread born of hard-earned woe.

the prose in your plea will one day be heard
& you'll know then, the way you were spurned.

this passion you are cannot be bought
& cannot be burnt.