A roan shelter
Shields the soul
From your dark
Conceal you from
The wisdom of an
The place, which your faith has abandoned,
Boards a people no different than yourself,
Yet, their opinions, spark the opposite beliefs,
When it comes time for decision
Altered flesh—a window seared—
Ragged from the flagrancies observed—
Flavor your vagrancies, with a scorching scent
Exhumed is the cancerous wind—
Where strange diction looms and a spewing of the noxious fumes
That eventually, even the most resisting, will one day grow immune to it's many "charms."
Thought I'd go ahead and do some stream of consciousness poetry before getting to bed.