Martyr

There is the pure, the dead, and the unlikely
All crowned on jewelled thrones, given a staff of power
Vanity of the strong is their weakest asset
Invisible slaves kneel at clothed feet
Shaking with the effort to stay anonymous
Most of us look straight through them
We do not care to see their gaze penetrating
Under our skin (we shiver)
All across the world is fighting
For knowledge, for survival, for power, for the end
Simplicity bathes in its own beauty and knowledge
While idiots over-zealously hunt the complex
With their second skin of armour
Making assumptions on elusive topics
That is not theirs to understand
Jaded souls search for new quests
Flying to heaven in a curved orange leaf
Twirling in the shaded hues of autumn
Words paint the landscape while the devil hides in the colours
Manipulating morals and offering solutions
Brimming with malevolence
We all live by the rhythm the daemons sing by
Pinpoint the questions and
Breed them till they consume us
Don't die a slave
Die a martyr to the astray, hopeless, and demoralised
Be the start of a revolution
Given a throne in history
A red halo circling your head