Conclusions Et Al

How strange it is when obsession doth rise
For sameness,
For change,
For compromise,

For blankets to lift,
From weathered eyes

For the rangy filth,
Of repeated lies,

For whenever she lives,
For certain she dies.

How strange it must seem when we love in faith,
In hope,
In peace,
That ethereal wraith,

In aimless sleep,
She calms the lathe,

In turn it does sow,
For the needy,
The waif,

But regardless of sleep,
When she opens her eyes,
The sooner she lives,
The sooner she dies.