balance

what saves me, be it times of sorrow
{{or}} when staging the bravest of dares
the private wars that wage within my soul
are not the pennies from here or there
that are the tolls extolled by the saviors
naive to the razor wire they've been to my prayers

a stair up, an endless number down
so say these poachers in the babble they spew
to all the subjects of their whining kings, who feign to rule
as portions here, maybe portions there
of what their adages should bring to bear
of how the balances draw in my duels with every fear i have
what sage words...what inner veins of wisdom
in the direness of what they aim to prove
should weigh the saddlebags of their ways
on my steeds of muse

as dosages of what romances
the untraveled or journeyed routes
that we find it always hard to know of which to choose

my own hope has enflamed its will
to pull forth a life that's true
to what is crouching as a soul left bruised
and oh so confused

i don red shoes-why
to dance the hysterics
of the pupil that plagiares to become sayer
of what the learned ones who know so name
as what a life must have

balance–on a scale of action
balance–on desire's ledge
balance each close shave of the barbarous day
balance–that ignores my shame
i need balance–to reinforce the piers
my enchantments of longing race
through the lingering years

what lies baiting in all that is tried for
yet dosen't herald us any regrets
is the wisest thought of all that we're to know instead

balance–on a scale of action
balance–on desire's ledge
balance each close shave of these barbarous days
balance–that takes no one's name
we need balance–that's its own rich fame
no longer weighing our saddled bags
with any more to gain