We define ourselves by needs

by the operative term of finding freedom,

we might be the one that bleeds

if while in action we lose our kingdom

to the crusader, the challenger, the chilling

antagonist.

We question the rights and our own

wrongs when trying to combine value

upon a selfish agonizing scream unknown

while the world derides the me in you.

Meanwhile the innocent blood is our bleeding

martyr.

While a man determines their right,

question the many that came so long before

just living this way seems today to be a rite

of passage, a sacrifice long ago thought folklore.

Shatter the window to freedom becomes a shouting

anarchist.

We begin our lives in the comfort of loving arms

unbeknownst to our innocence, the living pain

to be endured in the years ahead in subtle charms

meant only to help create a divide without gain.

Everywhere else evocative notions shriek from willing

candidate.

Life is a circle, a flowing line, an endless surface

In terms of morality we might a peace, promise