If Prophecies Are for Madmen...

...if only all injuries were of the heart..

Oh, let me live out my disgrace, the centerfold of dreams
When revealing my disjointed ideas, would argue for leperdom
A lilting grace that falls upon deaf ears
A turn.around the culmination of my fears
I break

Wreakage of a shore swept with the debris
Of an anarchist wish to be ashamed- for once
I am ashamed of all my glory
Won on the battlefields of an ink-stained tome
While commanders ply their trade
On hard won grounds stained red

I fight my battles with words... not swords
Though I cannot feign my relief
At being left behind the march of dawn
To atrophy inside this cage
Because I won't fight for my King's belief

Ivy slowly snakes upon these withered walls
Like an ancient ruin the city slowly falls
Into disrepair..
Blind to the stars of fortune

In disbelief
They stare into my cell at the angst-filled words
Illuminating this script
A prophecy to portend a salvation
I cry...

Guilt-shed tears that whisper a secret
You would wish to understand
I do not understand
You will see...

As the sky turns black -churning- red
The lightning grazes my lips
With every word I breathe.. a prayer is answered
Another soul is damned

When war is the common cry
And hope is a brandished pitchfork
I weep for those who stand with arms spread
Welcoming peace..welcoming all

With superfluous actions I condemn my fate
And the futures of those who follow..

The seeker of knowledge finds it... and goes mad

Conscripting masses to hold hands and join in prayer
Just isn't enough to satiate
The hunger of a jealous deity...

Knowing the future helps me hide in a shadowed blight
Away from the trials of man and pain
If prophecies are for madmen..
Then I don't want to be sane