I sat barking like an aged crow,
an Angel to my left asked my forgiveness for blocking what was right,
and I had to think on that a spell.
Bickering in the tongue of human nature,
ten swords offered cuts at your choice of depth.
A petty bargain to make when there is no escape,
no limbo, harrassment, or bloodletting crafty enough,
no, sanguine enough,
to purchase a passage away from the slander.
Bark, caw, pecking in the dirt like a dog unto my own errands of absolution,
I did not choose to leave peace behind,
but only picked a path through the fire, weaving a rope of straw pickings,
Harping on the lessons you'd need,
should anyone else bless the path to freedom.