His glass eyes blazed with a fiery passion
Irrational thoughts plagued his head with distraction
Detached from the world, a singular faction
Reactions of strangers grant no satisfaction
He's mourning the membrance of those he's forgotten
The flesh has stayed fresh, while the core becomes rotten
His hands have won wars that have yet to be fought in
Revealing truth's wrath which so many are caught in
And there lies his box in the corner I'm certain
His pulpit of sorts, there he preaches his sermon
Sealed minds still refuse to draw back the curtain
Define where the weak have collapsed from the burden
Crinkled hope, wrinkled hands, he's destined for shambles
Trinkets once bearing meaning now wither to brambles
Hands holding the hope of a million soaked candles
He rambles, but really his words shadow scandals
Deception runs rampant in the heart once sanctioned
Deflated morale from an ersatz inflation
Desparate times breed timely desparation
They shun what they once knew, a shattered salvation
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