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Poem

I was born and bred on Sunday, so fair and brisk, 
	With life's bet both just and sure, to unmask
	The hidden gem, I leapt on horizons upon horizons; 
	So I crucify the devil with reasons and defy its sons. 

	Lived on Tuesday and Thur'day-ne'er sought a name, 
	Drank of my sweat and blood, even in life's windstorm, 
	Yet chewed they our candy and at us threw the yawns,
	So I crucify the devil with reasons and defy its sons. 

	Crème de la crème of a lofty village, a taste of Monday gold, 
	Tame, timid, reverend-for which guns and distress billow'd, 
	You see, clean hands, pure heart, but with chasms of pains, 
	So I crucify the devil with reasons and defy its sons. 

	When's-day-when the obituary opened, they drew a cartoon, 
	Sketchy and messed up-smitten by the gods-well toned down, 
	Gods were quiet, and men quiet, and none with reasons, 
	So I crucify the devil with reasons and defy its sons. 

	On Saturday sitting in the tomb-land of the living dead-, 
	An open prison- by wires, walls, crowds and media afflicted-, 
	Such refinement and good life became overarched visions, 
	So I crucify the devil with reasons and defy its sons. 

	Morning sunset! Who shall bear me beyond the bound
	Of human and gods' ineptness? For I'm naught 'n moribund, 
	Gods have given up,  and men have auctioned my gowns,
	So I even crucify the devil with reasons and defy its sons.

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